Fragments
by anon66
Summary: Finished collection of Gone oneshots, drabbles, unfinished/short stories, and more.
1. Fragments Intro & Story Overview

**Disclaimer: **Gone™ belongs to various publishers such as HarperCollins Children's Books a division of HarperCollins Publishers, or Schibsted Forlag AS here in Norway, and is written by Michael Grant. Borrowing the characters out of entertainment purposes only, getting no cash out of this whatsoever. All other material belongs to their respective owners.

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Welcome.

These tales range from quality to quantity, from comedy to tragedy, from pure crap to small gold corns. There are stories here that while not lacking in creative plots, should have had a better-suited person to carry them out. I tended to ramble and my descriptions are sometimes annoying and endless.

I'm still proud of most of this though, if not only for showing how my writing has improved :) My English grammar and spelling are slowly but surely becoming better and better, and I'd like to think of these as... comparisons... things I went through to get where I am now. Quite a feat writing 150 000 words in my second (third?) language when I didn't know the difference between "than" and "then" when I first started (*´・ｖ・)

I am no longer this active in this fandom. I never received lots and lots of feedback, but I still thank those who read and took the time to review my amateurish little pieces. You're the best! Especially those with CC.

I warn you all - although it will be written in the overview down below - that some of these stories might include alcohol/drug use, character death, graphic physical/mental torture, both non-con and fluffy smut, colourful language, and lots of other generally dark themes that may put on off. It will also be written in the top in each chapter along along with stuff like genre, pairing, words, etc.. No I can't decide whether to write just "words:" or "word count:" (∩▂∩) ~ Don't say I didn't warn you, and don't like it, don't read further! Simple rule, yes?

Because flames will be deleted. That being said, constructive criticism is still highly welcome, but I doubt it'll help very much since I lost interest in Gone™ long ago and old mistakes are, well, _old_ and often dealt with - I hope (●´∀｀●) But I'd still liked to hear your thoughts, if you'd let me. So enter this wonderland of my old works with caution - it might not suit your fine taste, and I'm okay with that. Don't like don't read, remember?

Good luck!

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**CHAPTER FANFIC**** OVERVIEW:**

1)** Fragments** intro/fanfic overview.

2) **Waltzing with Death:** _"You don't honestly want to die." Something that resembled pity roamed his features. The smell of blood in the air caused Drake's sickly smile to reappear, much to Sam's growing disproval. He didn't make a comment however, merely staring at his killer with big, dead eyes. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'll kill you."_ Dark non-slash horror fic.

3) **Never Land: **_"__Sam fell as a hero that day. And then the whole town fell with him."_ Oneshot prequel for Ash. No serious warnings.

4) **Behind The Mask:** _"The Gaiaphage wanted Drake to submit to its twisted will entirely. It wanted to break Drake without ruining his sadistic spirit."_ Sicksicksick fic: mature rated. DARK. Some sexual themes, but nothing serious.

5) **Alluring**: _"AU, London 1890. Detective Temple is dragged into a web of games and riddles once he accept to investigate the "Allure"-murders."_ Sherlock Holmes inspired fic; though discontinued. CainexDiana.

6) **Case 413: The Artist:** _"Whoever suggested that Drake Merwin was just a poor, misunderstood adult with a some small mental issues that kind psychologists would manage to fix needs to get their head checked." _ AUish FutureFic, I won't spoil anything but that The Artist is rated T+. Drake is interviewed by a psychologist, ends rather nastily. No romance.

7) **No:** _"Screaming, who is screaming? Screaming, is he screaming?" _DARK Dram; character death and some slight gore.

8)** Vilipending Butterflies:** "_He was tangled deeper into this mess than he liked to imagine. A terrifying grin stretched across the cunning snake's face, "No Merwin, fuck you."_ No real smut but references to the sexual nature. Caike. Slash pairing, but no real slash either.

9)** Memories in the Sun:** AN EXPERIMENT: MY FIRST GONE FIC EVER. _"__The new spring grass the two of them lay on was oddly comfortable, especially since Sam used his boyfriend's lap as a pillow."_ Fluffiness and OOCness; Dram as a slash pairing. You get a kiss too.

10)** Binding:** Teaser trailer for upcoming fic Nocturne. _"Like Snow White herself, Sam would bite the venomous apple and make a deal with an unknown devil – the consequences for this act will be larger and more exchanting that he would ever have imagined." _As stated, a trailer of Nocturne. This won't mean that it's a preview, that's unlegal I know, but it features original scenes from the actual story that I will later rewrite/have already written differently. No warnings.

11) **Thorns:** DARKEST FIC I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. I THINK. _"Drake's clothes, his face, his hair, his fucking fingertips – all were drenched in sweet crimson. Like a beautiful dark-red rose. 'In which just under the rose, there is thorns,' Sam thought, almost absent in the world of the living. 'Merwin is just a whole thorn.' He slipped into death, the escape being so welcoming. Just a whole thorn. There are no real roses."_ Warning: Extreme torture, character death, non-descriptive rape, no underage readers! (As in, those with too small brain). Challenge from Clovers-Charm. I win.

12) **Sand Paper:** Extremely long Caike story; basically a bunch of drabbles that is set at Coates in PreFAYZ. _"Lust is the craving for salt of a man who is dying of thirst." -Frederick Buechner._ Caike and Draine.

13) **When It Pours:** Post-PLAGUE. Happy birthday **JokerGrace**! _"They were two of a whole. And Caine was going to show his twin-brother just that, with the help of dirty means."_ Twincest Cam, as you requested.

14) **Polished: **Requested by **DreamCatcher97**, some nice Caine smut. "_"I'll make it good," she promised, knowing well that he could remove the restrains with his powers, but also thinking that many males had secret desires to be tied up and used, idly wondering if Caine had it that way._" Yay for first good Caina lemon in this fandom! So awesome. Includes sex, bondage, light bottom!bitch!Caine and a very nice outfit.

15) **El Tango De Rozanne:** AU. Gift to **SirenShadow** _"Two men, one woman, tangled deep within a dangerous game which drags all three down in separate ways. And they love each moment of it. "Yes, jealousy... Will drive you... mad!" Songfic. DrakexDianaxCaine."_ Moulin Rouge! inspired, CainexDianaxDrake dancin'.

16) **No More:** Drabbling a bit. ""&_ You don't wear my chains…" He lost him._" Dram, as always.

17) **Mass Collection Of Random Jokes****:** (or **Junk**, as I like to call it). Basically what the title implied - all my bad crack fics collected in one stupid chapter of Fragments.

18) **September Blues:** Crossover with film/graphic novel Sin City. _"Once in a while, two different yet alike people would meet up and have a nonchalant chat, drinking coffee and having a small pause from life in Basin City."_ This kind-of-oneshot kind-of-first-chapter-to-unfinished-story contains: mentioned drugs, bad language, prostitutes, A LOT of references against the sexual nature, gay!Sam, friendship!Saiana, blah blah blah ALSO HAS MARV!

19) **I Are:** _"It had always just been a matter of time. Sam finally snapped. And now everyone around him would suffer for it."_ thing ever written. It includes so much SHIT I can't be bothered to list all of it here. Basically, if you're not fond of anti-relgion themes and cannibalism, don't read. In fact, if you're a pussy, don't read at all. :c

20)** Aluminium Cranes: **_"They were like Romeo and Juliet, if Romeo had been a megalomaniac with narcissist issues and Diana a pregnant witch with an attitude problem. "Oh Cupid, did you trip and fall when you shot your arrows at us, only to later curse and scream because of the mistake?"" _Caina, implied Dram. Humour. References towards 'da sexi-tiiiime. Colourful language.

21) **Mad Friends Deleted Scenes: **Pretty obvious really. Basically all of the shit that never made it into the story.

22) **A Hero and his Horse: **_"Two lovers, who knew that no matter how far and how fast they ran, their past would always catch up with them and pull them apart. This time they were dragged much further apart than usual, but in one way or another they'd find each other in the very end."_ :D Dram, character death, blood n gore

23) **Rabbit Caught:** _"Come the the dark side, we'll molest you, mindfuck your thoughts and and rape your mind."_ Dram, unfinished story, chapter one.

24)** Gunpowder Kisses:** _"The hitman still didn't know why he kept the prostitute around."_ L.A. Noire inspired little AU Dram oneshot.

25)** Mirror Mirror:** _"There's nothing quite brotherly love. Caine kills Sam, no poison apples involved." _Character death and general creepiness.

26) **Dies Irae:** No summary, you'll have to read to find out. Mentioned disturbing themes but nothing graphic.

27) **The Dolls: **_"Loyalties change. Gaia decides they need several more freaks on their side since the rift between those inside the FAYZ and those outside has steadily grown wider, meaning that it will be easier to recruit. Easily acquiring Sam with Drake's help, Gaia thinks she'll get Caine over with Diana's help. But Caine won't follow without a fight, a fight of a different kind, per se." _Creepiness. Caina smut. Death.

28) **Dango Daikazoku: **PostFAYZ, AU futurefic._ "Uncle Sam told me there are only two places I'm allowed to cry. In the bathroom... and in Daddy's arms." _Inspired by CLANNAD: After Story. Complete.

29) **Coffe:** _"Of oddities, friendships, and a lot of good coffee."_ Saiana... a kind of.

30) **Cross:** _"Bringing Drake to her house was a bad idea, and so was letting him stay in her room. Twisted, intense feelings collide. Things happen."_ Requsted Drastrid smut.

31) **Comrade:** What if-Connie-had-kept-Caine AU. _"When the Temple twins moves to Perdido Beach, many challenges arise. Some of them are related to school or romance, but most with their crazy hyperactive step-father."_ Unfinished humor story.

32) **A SADISTIC DRAKE MERWIN LOVE STORY: **SUE PARODY. READ AT OWN RISK._ "Sarah Helldaughter has powers so great no one could have ever imagined, and thus every male in the Gone universe will run after her like rabies-infested dogs. Especially Drake Merwin."_ Two chapters out; reposted here and discontinued.

33) **Marble: **Semi-sequel to Onyx, nowhere near as perfect as it deserves, so put here. _"Life is miserable, especially if your lover broke up by breaking your legs. Now, Sam is crippled, deranged and distrusted among the townies, and Drake won't let go as easily either."_ Post-Dram, crippling angst.

34)** Draken:** _"Long distance relationships suck. But the boys will find a way..." _Challenge; phonesex Dram.

35) **Ash:** _"Caine and Diana returns to Perdido Beach and a ghost town awaits them. Finding an abandoned hero and seeking a bitter villain the king and his queen decides to end the ones who did it."_ Unfinished story. Caina. Sequel to** Never Land**.

36) **Fairy Tale Dust: **_"Sam vanishes in thin air after the uranium factory explodes, only to return seven years later to a FAYZ he did not expect. The line between good and evil is blurred out and friends are no longer friends and old enemies become prove useful allies." _Unfinished story again.

37) **Dram Collection: **basically all the things I never posted.


	2. Waltzing with Death

**Disclaimer: **Nope, making no money from this, just sadistic amusement.

**Rated: **T+

**Warning:** Dark but not dark-dark, blood, and some general mental and physical torture.

**Beta:** JokerGrace – thank you for helping me with_ that_ word, and beta'ing.

**Type:** Oneshot. Drabbleish.**  
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**Genre: **Horror and angst.

**Pairing****s:** Hinted previous SamxAstrid, no slash goodness .

**Summary: **"You don't honestly want to die." Something that resembled pity roamed his features. The smell of blood in the air caused Drake's sickly smile to reappear, much to Sam's growing disproval. He didn't make a comment however, merely staring at his killer with big, dead eyes. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'll kill you."

**Words: **9'626

**A/N:** Originally posted 03.30.11. Also some minor changes.

This was inspired over how unstable Sam was in LIES. Written before PLAGUE came out.

In this Astrid is a bit of a bitch. Then again, I can't name a single person who still had respect for her after LIES. But again-again I don't really waste hatred on fictional characters so meh – pretend she's PMSing or something; all those with vagina are aware of how dangerous we can be in those delightful few days.

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**Waltzing with Death**

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"_From Childhood's hour I have not been _

_As other were – I have not seen_

_As other's saw – I could not bring _

_My passions from a common spring_

_From the same source I have not taken_

_My sorrow; I could not awaken_

_My heart to joy at the same tone; _

_And all I lov'd, _I _lov'd alone._

_Then – in my childhood in the dawn _

_Of a stormy life – was drawn_

_From ev'ry dept of good and ill_

_The mystery which binds me still_

_From the torrent, or the fountain, _

_From the red cliff or the mountain, _

_From the sun that 'round me roll'd _

_In its autumn tint of gold – _

_From the lighting in the sky_

_As it pass'd me flying by – _

_From the thunder and the storm,_

_And the cloud that took the form_

_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

_Of a demon in my view._" -Edgar Allen Poe, Alone, The Raven & other poems and tales.

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Sam's head hung low as he was forcefully dragged down the stairs by a monster who'd once been a mere human boy. The auburn-haired teen and hero of the FAYZ didn't even bother to fight back, knowing it was useless and would probably result in more pain than he was willing to receive because of a stupid escape attempt doomed to fail.

"We're doing this for you, Sam," came the stern voice with fake assurance of his so-called girlfriend. The one who had stated that she 'loved' him for who and what he was. That statement seemed gone now – along with everything else in this new godforsaken world – as she stood behind him with crossed arms and a determined facial expression showing that she wouldn't back down from her decision willingly. Sam didn't even have to turn around (not that he could, by any means) to know that she was glaring at him for being an idiot in her eyes and not going on with the solution on his little problem without a fight. It had ended rather quick – however just the fact that he fought back proved how "wrong" he was.

"Yeah, you need this man. Astrid k-knows best, y'know," said Sam's former best friend in a quick stumble of words. He stood behind the angry female as if hiding from his former surfer buddy's wrath. Quinn didn't seem half as confident as Astrid, though. "For your own good, dude." He swayed gently back and forth as if sick with the whole idea of leaving Sam down _there_. But he was on top of the staircase and no way in Hell was he doing anything drastic with the female who had ordered the whole thing right there beside him.

Quinn was a fisherman, not a hero. He was just here to 'observe the process', as Astrid had so nicely put it with large words to just show how extremely smarter than him she was. (Quinn didn't know if it was on purpose or not).

Astrid nodded as if she knew what she was talking about. "Yes. It's for your own good." She dropped that little annoying phrase at the end of Quinn's sentence because she frankly didn't approve of the it. Sam dully noticed that she repeated the sentence, as if trying to convince herself in vain instead of appeasing him. After that she continued to ramble about his poor mental state and how this was going to be a refresher for his memories of what he was going to miss if he left, like he'd threatened once the stress became too hard on him.

Sam didn't even bother to respond in any kind of way. Orc was the only one who stayed thoughtfully quiet during the whole one-sided fight. Sam saw a flash of emotion that reminded of pity in the giant's human eye and noticed the expression twist into a sneer before it was gone again as if taken by the wind. _'Things are pretty bad when even Orc pities me,' _he thought. Indeed, but just how bad?

There was a noise that reminded him of a slow shrieking when Orc used one hand to remove the metal desk from the place where _it_ was, tightening his grip around Sam's throat as a warning. Sam still didn't say anything, although a shiver swept down his spine as he thought of what would happen. Orc watched the FAYZ's hero for a moment, before eyeing the two people at top of the staircase. Astrid gave him a small thumbs-up, showing him a smile of encouragement.

Orc nearly snorted. How could anyone who placed her boyfriend in isolation by putting him in this mouldy basement _smile_? This was his punishment, she'd said – but of course; Astrid had sold it to him with finer language and big bold words, half of which that he had never heard of, let alone understood. He'd figured out the meaning though, mostly because Howard had helped him.

He took a look at the hollow teen in his arms. Sam wasn't big like him, being several inches shorter, and it was weird for Orc to have the smaller teen so close to him. He seemed so fragile at the moment as well, but also awfully empty of emotions. It was just plain sad to look at, in the former bully's opinion.

"Orc?" The feminine but stern voice woke him up from his wandering thoughts, and the giant of a teenager immediately grunted and broke up the wooden boards that had been used to block the doorway. He shivered once he noticed the half-dead body lying on the ground. _It_ didn't smell, thank God, and _it_ did not seem to be awake just yet either. Yet~ that word made it go cold down the giant's shoulders, which was a very rare occurrence and he quickly hid it with a shrug. He remembered fighting the demon himself, those piercing silver eyes drilling into the very core of the larger teen's soul.

"_Drake Merwin wasn't dead, he_ is_ dead."_ Orc remembered that Astrid had told him. _"Whatever's left must be an empty void of revenge seeking a piece of his soul. I know that no creature created by God on this earth can be fully evil, and Drake Merwin is no exception. My mother taught me that."_

He remembered asking why she was sharing this kind of information with him, because he frankly didn't give a shit, which she'd responded with an arrogant snort and proceeded to walk away like a pimp. When it had happened, you could almost hear the funky music in the background.

Orc snorted, and when he was finally finished with making sure Sam couldn't move, he cast a look at the sleeping (or that was what the former bully thought he- _it _was doing, anyway) body on the ground, that had stayed as motionless as ever. Orc knew that the screaming from the monster had erupted because he'd seen the pointlessness in the situation (and because of a very sore throat from all the cursing and howling), while the girl was still at it. At least she was not in control at the moment. Drake was maybe more dangerous and frightening even though chains, rope and other restraining materials were wrapped around _its_ whole body and only left the lower neck and face in sight. The eyes were closed and _it_ made no signs of being alive, but Orc didn't risk checking the pulse vein. Hell, he didn't know if _its_ pulse vein even worked.

"Why did she put ya here?" The words was dry, uncaring, but there was a certain curiosity hidden there somewhere. "The real reason, I mean." Perhaps not so uncaring after all.

Sam saw up, knowing exactly who he was talking to. Something that resembled a bitter sadness shone dimly in his eyes, "You already know what. Astrid decided that I needed a time-out for acting so badly. What is better than putting me with my worst enemy to "talk about our differences and sort it out"? Jeeze, I feel so special," he said with sarcasm dripping like venom from his voice. Orc noticed the snarl that followed, a small bit of the rage that was boiled up inside, with a frown. It was a long time since Sam had snapped like that. In fact, Orc couldn't remember last time. But then again, his memory had never been of the best.

Orc turned around and walked up. "You've got two hours." He thought for a minute about questioning Sam some more but shrugged and instead shoved the desk back in its place, not bothering to nail up the defensive blocks that had stopped Drake from going anywhere if he – Orc forgot that the_ thing_ in the other room was a noun in the neuter, an actual it – managed to break loose.

His steps were heavy as he clumped up the stairs, his gaze meeting Astrid's intense one in a swift motion. He snorted, keeping his tone blasé, "Mission accomplished."

A small snigger came from the other end of the room, where Howard stood with a slightly uneasy smirk on his face. He was clearly uncomfortable with the current situation, having to watch Orc put Sammy (even in a serious situation he couldn't drop the nickname) with the demon itself, or perhaps himself, living downstairs. Even though Howard had supported the decision of letting Sam receive this as a punishment.

The frightening thought was that Astrid was the one who had suggested it, even though her supposed boyfriend (or were the two of them over now?) had been hysterically screaming and begging – Sam fucking Temple reduced to begging; she really was a true ice princess after all – and all of it was to stop them from putting the poor, hero with _him_.

There were few who really knew just how far the scars from the torture had driven in on him, just not physically. Mental scars that ran so extremely deep that they would never ever go away until Sam turned old and senile. Though Howard doubted any of them would make it past twenty. That was one scary thought.

The worst thing: none of them had ever lifted on Sam's shirt to _check_ – for good measures, of course – just what exactly he'd been through that time with his nemesis.

No. And no one bothered to ask either; their minds were already clouded with other unimportant questions.

"Ellison?"

"Yes?" Astrid turned away from Orc, and he swore he saw a single tear running down her cheek.  
>Orc's tone wasn't getting any milder just for that reason.<p>

"Why did he receive that punishment shit?" Hell, for all he knew she could've been crying of joy. Not that the thought bothered him anymore; hardly anything did.

"He..." Her voice got louder, sterner and more mother-like with each second of time she was clenching her teeth together and trying to come up with a good explanation, "He attacked a small boy."

That brought a halt to the conversation.

Orc stared at her. "On purpose?"

Biting her lip in response to that question, Astrid took a step backwards.

Howard sighed from his place in the corner. "That's the problem. We don't know."

"I thought you trusted the guy."

"We do, but also his explanation is slightly invalid. He has stated that he definitely didn't do it by accident," Astrid replied before Howard continued.

"Right. He said he was angry at a boy, under his... paranoid state that we all found quite disturbing, and _decided to go through with the procedure neither less_," he said it quickly directed at the female member of the council, who's checks immediately turned bright red in embarrassment. "Sammy was – a victim of his own rage. The other boy must've insulted our lil' hero or something, and therefore caused Sam to snap."

"And a member of the FAYZ's council can't use their powers even if a child or children doesn't respect their authority."

"If I remember clearly..." Quinn began from the chair he sat on. The house wasn't exactly hygienic and he had a disgusted expression on his face. "...Sam never really wanted to join the council in the first place. Same about being a hero. And saving the day. And-"

"It's not about what he wants, but what is right for the children," Astrid hissed. "We can't have him running around surfing when we need his gift if there's an emergency crisis."

"So we only need him for his power?" Quinn asked bluntly. There weren't any hidden meanings in his words, unlike Howard's.

The Ice Princess' mouth clapped together with a click. She stared at the three of them, before her lips turned to a thin line and she hurried out. "I need to check on Little Pete," she lied fluently.

"Looks like somebody doesn't change," Howard said quietly as he followed Astrid out, Orc and Quinn following shortly after.

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"_Death is not the greatest of evils; it is worse to want to die, and not be able to." _-Sophocles

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Dark circles under his eyes. Clear signs of exhaustion from working himself to the very bone. It wasn't just sleep this boy lacked, no, someone to share all his worries and problems with was one of the things he also so sorely needed, among others. He craved for a single person's _whole_ acceptance. And there was that wish to just let all the hero stuff go, let someone else take it all, which would result in a heavy burden slipping off his shoulders momentarily. But never out loud of course, because the people around him would never tolerate him taking a few days off. He was the infamous Sam Temple, so it was invisibly written down that he was supposed to guard Perdido Beach twenty-four seven and never let anyone out of his sight.

He was on the verge of snapping, and this nearly made the glass tip over. He had to constantly remind himself every single miserable minute of his current existence that the people he was supposed to _trust_ had a reason for doing all of this. Keeping him in this room with the person who had inflicted such terrible scars that went deeper than anyone could possibly imagine. He hadn't snapped – no, he had just had a moment of momentary anger directed upon the being of a ungrateful little son of a bitch who'd questioned his reason for not killing Caine Soren when he had had the chance. He'd suggested that Sam burnt his head off, and when the FAYZ's current leader refused to even acknowledge the fact that his brother might be dead, the little boy had called him a weakling and other things Sam tried his best to ignore. It had just snapped for him – but only for a short moment. Two seconds max, but in two seconds the boy had laid violently screaming on the ground with half his arm burnt off. Not a pretty sight, and Sam was sure the image had been burnt into his head and would not go away for years to come.

The worst thing had been Astrid's reaction. He knew she was still sore from the fact that he still didn't want to work on their crumbling relationship. Too frightened it would break again – but he wasn't honest about it to her. He'd simply cut her off when she'd quietly suggested it and harshly turned her down without meeting her eyes. He was still attached to her, he knew, but the fear of getting so badly hurt again was there roaming in his heart, and he simply couldn't handle it. Better to stay alone and at least be in some condition to make own choices (and do other things then to eat ice cream all day and mourn over a train that was already passed). So who could blame the heart-broken girl when she responded by doubting his words about it being an accident and decided to put Sam in a cage with his worst enemy to teach him a vulnerable lesson? OK, maybe deep down Sam did. She'd called it a vacation. He would have preferred Hawaii.

The people who did this – the FAYZ's council leaders – never saw the damage that this very decision had caused the hero. The fact that they thought they could solve his problems by throwing him in a cell with Drake fucking Merwin was on the brink of madness, and this came from a boy who'd nearly been whipped to death and was already on the edge of insanity himself. The worst thing was who had suggested it; his former girlfriend Astrid Ellison.

Yeah he still couldn't get over that fact.

It hurt. Oh, it hurt so badly that Sam could've gladly exchange his inner agony with the of pain of getting an arm burnt off. At least the physical pain went away (Well, you didn't get your arm back, but who cares?) while the mental pain locked itself around your heart like a stone chest and the person who held the key had no intention whatsoever of using it and letting him out.

"_My mother taught me to always confront my fears,"_ she'd said quite fondly and receiving nods and pleased murmurs in agreement from the court that was going to decide Sam's punishment. They couldn't throw him out of town, no, because they needed him, but there are plenty ways of making a normal – or fairly normal anyway – human feel plain terror so hard it was reaching into the being's very soul, twisting and killing its heart.

Back to present.

Sam lay chained to a wall with an emotionless façade on his features. The monster that was supposed to be chained to the other wall sat right in front of him with an amused facial expression – it was too free and unchained for Sam's taste – and grinned sadistically down at him. As if he (it?) was ready to tear out Sam's heart at any given moment, which Sam did not doubt he could.

"So they finally betrayed you, huh?" the voice crooned softly, increasing its volume every second; indicating that it was getting closer. The disgusting tentacle made its way to Sam's neck, gently caressing the throat where the vulnerable pulse line laid pumping blood all around to his body beneath a thin layer of skin.

The monster in front of Sam was just playing with him, enjoying the look of fear Sam so desperately tried to hide. A whip-formed arm made itself known – yeah right, as if Sam could've forgotten it – as it embraced itself around Sam's neck almost gently, squeezing in a quiet warning.

Sam didn't know how to respond to this, knowing it was useless to retort with anything. An insult would probably get him killed, so Sam stayed quiet.

His instincts were screaming at him to flee, telling him that he couldn't defeat this particular foe.

That he would die.

Here.

Alone.

"...They put you in a room with _me_," Drake mocked him, "I should feel honoured. Or surprised even, by their obvious stupidity." The sentence was as dry as the sand from a desert. "Oh, the great Sam Temple, saviour of the FAYZ and conqueror of both Caine Soren and Drake Merwin, brought down to my humble level."

His sand-blonde hair fell into his face – which was covered in a thick layer of dirt and hardened crimson blood – and Sam's eyes widened as he now got to look directly into the madman's shining silver eyes for the first time. Insanity almost _lived _in there, and Sam could swear that he saw Hell along with the tormented screams of sinners from all over the world.

"Shut up!" Sam muttered harshly trough clenched teeth as soon as he'd regained his usual strong façade, even though the retort was fairly weak.

Drake Merwin smiled gleefully down at his old prey, and the tentacle's pressure increased. It started with the slow process of choking him to death. "No, no Sammy; you're in no position to make demands like that." The hold loosened lightly, enough to allow the older teen to receive enough oxygen again.

"I wonder how you have fallen so mighty, little leader. What was it that sent you down here, huh? Did you finally betray them?" The smile turned into a sick and murderous grin. "Tell me why." It wasn't a question, but more of a demand this time.

Sam honestly did not want to die at the moment, although death seemed to be the easy escape from his current situation, seeing exactly who he was sharing this cell with. Sam doubted he'd make it out alive though. He clenched his teeth even harder, his eyes narrowed into a deep glare that sent imaginary daggers through his foe's scull. "I lost control," he said in a hoarse voice, the truth that had just escaped his lips hurting because of the fact that it came from his very own mouth. He did not intend to share any more information.

"What did you lose control over, Sammy? Your power – your light which was supposed to save everyone and make you the big hero? Perhaps you wandered off to Coates and burnt you twin brother's head off? Or did you lose your temper and someone suffered, possibly your manipulating, blonde bitch of a girlfriend…?"

Sam's eyes widened. "No!" he shrieked, panic evident on his features. "I just... there was a kid who started questioning my choices." He bit his lip with the painful memory, and unknown to himself, he closed his eyes while swallowing thickly.

"And you attacked him or her?" Drake smirked. "That poor, defenceless creature who simply asked you some questions? Did you hurt the kid? Or perhaps even kill?"

Sam suddenly discovered how hard it was to breathe, even though the tentacle was resting 'peacefully' on his neck and not choking him. At least not yet.

The little piece of sanity that was left in Sam's mind screamed at him to stop spilling out information as carelessly as that; the monster in front of him would perhaps find a way to use it against him. This was an enemy god dammit, not some psychologist that was supposed to listen to all the self-sacrificing teen's problems. Drake was more likened to the exact opposite of a psychologist.

"I don't think he's dead," Sam murmured, trailing off as his voice disappeared from hearing range completely. It was as if he was fading away, like a flower that was dying after the sun disappeared and the harsh winter's snow covered the ground, making it impossible to live for almost any decent plant life. _'Not dead, just nearly burnt to death and severely damaged for life,'_ he thought. Guilt was written over the fading flower's – Sam's – face and the psychotic monster in front of him could read him like a book.

"So they betrayed you after the little slip, didn't they?" The question was calmly asked, but still caused unwanted chills of uneasiness to surge through the other teen's body. He'd appreciated the silence and had wanted it to stay so that the hours the two of them were forced together could pass by quicker, but of course the sand-blond had other plans. Drake's mercuric eyes were slightly narrowed once he didn't receive an immediate answer, and he brought the tentacle's tip dangerously close to Sam's rapid beating pulse.

"I could kill you so easily now."

He could. The look in his eyes told Sam so, plus the fact that the deadly tip was sliding closer every second and wanted nothing more than to slit his throat right at that very moment. It was as if the damn thing lived its own life... as if it were a snake or something. Drake could kill Sam. And both knew it so very well.

"But I won't." The hold loosened, and Drake leaned back and crossed his arms. "Because then I won't get my answers. Did. They. Betray. You?" This time, he wouldn't take Sam's continuing silence nicely. After a few seconds, a twisted grin stretched on his face and gave the appearance of splitting it in half.

"Yes." The answer came before Sam had even thought about what word his lips mouthed, before the sound was released and gave the appearance of him agreeing with the sick son of a bitch in front of him. An angry red dust of embracement covered his face in a split second, and all the anger that had been boiled up inside of him cooled down like lava, but only on the surface. The red mass still lay swirling beneath the thin layer of hardened lava, waiting to break loose.

Those who said that anger was warm were wrong. Anger wasn't downright warm, but instead it surged coolly through Sam's body, before a sudden warmth raced through his veins and the heat grew way too warm for his taste, causing his face to go quickly from porcelain white thereafter directly to red and then back to white again. As if the warmth and cold battled each other, like the emotions swirling inside of him. If Sam hadn't been the one experiencing this, he'd have felt amused.

"...I mean no."

He sounded like a child. A child who had just given the wrong answer and knew that he or she was going to be punished for it. For Sam, it was the exact opposite; if he had answered "no" at first he'd have received some sort of physically damaging punishment like getting whipped across the face or at least something as painful, but now... Sam was going to get damaged mentally, and he knew it. Drake had somehow managed to get inside his brain, bothering him with the questions which he somehow understood that Sam inwardly knew the answer _very well_ but it hurt so fucking much to think it through. The one who said that some questions were better unanswered obviously knew what he was talking about.

"Ah, of course." Drake cackled. Now it wasn't laughing, it was cackling like something in his brain had clicked and now the whole body responded by throwing a tantrum and sending the current host into a state where he could do nothing less than hysterically giggling like a mentally disturbed teen girl in love.

"Oh, the hilarity!" The tentacle flew through the air and made a_ snap _sound that echoed across the little room. "I can't believe it. I'm still digesting the information about how terrible they have been to their hero and now you confess that you know it yourself! I thought you had wrapped yourself in bubble plastic and convinced yourself that you're loved by everybody! But oh no~ Sam knows, doesn't he? That they use him daily."

Referring to the other in the third person made the speech so much more interesting. Especially with Sam's eyes widening even more for every second and he was on the brink of losing his sanity.

The sand-blonde psychopath started laughing again, even more hitch-pitched and hysterical this time. Enough to make a shiver go down everybody in hearing range's spines. Too bad there was only a single teenager who had to experience the _gleeful_ situation completely _alone_ with no one to share the _joy_ with.

Sam clutched his ears in attempt to block out the terrible screaming noise. He closed his eyes.

How could they? Again his thoughts wandered off to his _former_ friends. How could they put him with this creature, when they didn't need to ponder on the result for a long time to see it? How? Why? Had Sam been bad in any other way, not counting accidentally hurting that boy? Memories left his brain momentarily because of the stress of the situation killed the current last remains of his sanity. It was wrong! They were the bad guys, not him! He hadn't done anything, there _were no fucking reasons_!

Tears sprung from his eyes now, free to run down his checks and into the dirt-covered t-shirt. He hated showing weakness, but his mind couldn't proceed to stop the rain that erupted from his eyes. He sobbed softly, quietly, and the cackling turned into small chuckles before silencing completely.

Too bad Sam's eyes were completely covered, because he couldn't see as Drake's eyes went from silver to radioactive green in a matter of seconds, before the shone lessened to a more dark green that was almost not noticeable in the dark room where the small ray of light that escaped from the door – Orc's calculation of where the light would angle was far from perfect.

Because as Drake's silver, insanity filled eyes **closed**, a pair of calm, calculating ones **opened** and there wasn't the scattered revenge-seeking pieces of Drake ruined (and dead) mind that sat there in Brittany's body, but instead the _thing_ that had brought the demon and the angel together. The same _thing _that had made FAYZ a living Hell. Had? No, the FAYZ _was_.

The Gaiaphage smiled, immediately understanding the situation. He still had control over Drake and the psychopath allowed him to take over whenever he wanted. So Drake had brought the boy that had stopped his plans to this level, eh? How very enamouring. Even though The Gaiaphage had once been a green radioactive mass of goo, it wasn't stupid. At least not at the present time. This was a splendid opportunity, Sam sobbing in front of him and appearing to be quite broken!

"Shh. There now," the Gaiaphage said in a soothing, hoarse voice, but keeping its tone quiet so as not to startle the heroic boy in front of it. It patted the boy's back gently, pulling the small – how amazing, the Temple boy seemed so much younger when he was crying! – body towards himself and embracing him softly. Sam didn't respond, but he didn't push away the creature that was now the Gaiaphage unbeknownst to him, or even tense in the mind was so broken at the moment that he merely sobbed into the body that was currently holding him without thinking about _who_ it was, his thoughts still on his traitorous friends. "Shh..."

"They betrayed me, didn't they?" Sam asked after several seconds, his voice quiet and as broken as his crushed facial expression.

"Of course they did," The Gaiaphage responded in a firm tone, tugging the boy closer, not in the least bit surprised as a pair of weak arms wrapped around its back for support. "They only needed you for your powers. When their enemies were gone, they wanted to keep you under complete control and when you did something they didn't like-" The Gaiaphage saw Sam's eyes getting refilled with sadness and was careful to mix its words in a different order, "or said something they didn't like... Like talking to another person of the female kind who wasn't Astrid Ellison."

'_Keep his thoughts away from his murder,'_ the Gaiaphage reminded itself, not caring much about the details over the so-called "murder". Because Sam currently believed it and it didn't want to break that trust just yet. It scolded itself for not attacking so personally before; than the Temple boy's very being and powers would be its, and the radioactive creature's plans would never had been messed up so badly.

"When you didn't obey, they threw you in here with me, Drake Merwin. They don't want you dead just yet. Putting you in here with _me_ was going to settle you back into place and as far as I'm concerned, they were going to pick you up after you had learned your little lesson about defying orders." The voice was strangely soothing in a creepy way, but Sam didn't mind as he agreed with his whole heart with the one who'd ruined his life. The scars on his back were physical evidence of exactly that.

The Gaiaphage pondered. He had to find a topic that was potentially damaging for Sam, or a sentence which would make it hurt extra for him. The girlfriend seemed to be a sore spot. "What did your little girlfriend say to this?"

Sam tensed.

'_I hit the spot!'_ The Gaiaphage gleefully thought.

"She was the one who suggested it," he said in a hollow voice. The tears were gone; what was left was an empty shell. After releasing all the emotions that had been corked up inside for so awfully long, hardly anything caused him to get a reaction anymore. When someone breaks your heart and leaves you to rot with a cell with the one person who ruined your mental health, it _kinda hurts_ a lot. He was hollow, at least for the moment. An easy opportunity for the Gaiaphage to crush his mind even further into hopelessness and build on the paranoia that was rising in Sam's head and would quickly form his new being: a permanent empty shell.

And it was all so very amusing. "She was the one who decided that FAYZ's legal system's punishments applied for me also." Something flickered across his gaze, "But I kinda see why she did it though... because I've been bad."

The response was a twisted mix between a dark chuckle and a snarl. Sam hadn't heard the sound before and looked up to meet the glowing green eyes. He was taken slightly aback with the new piece of information: was Drake not Drake anymore? Not that it really mattered though, Sam's mind responded to those thoughts, and the brown-haired teenager felt like he was having a conversation with himself. Clear signs of a schizophrenic nature, but things were already so bad that they couldn't possibly get any worse.

Oh, Sam Temple was _such _an optimist!

"I wasn't supposed to go free. Just scare you with some comments since they obviously knew that it was me and not Brittany in charge." Perhaps it was Drake who had control? Or the two strong personalities from both him and the Gaiaphage had _merged_ together at the current time. "It wasn't going to be anything big," it, him, no _they_ both spoke as if they knew. "Just frighten you a little bit and voila! We have our pet back in place again. But you knew things were gonna change, didn't you? You knew that it wouldn't go back to normal, loyal, heroic little Sam, mostly because you was already on the verge of insanity and you somehow knew that Drake Merwin would break free and tip you off the deadly cliff, leaving you falling into the pit below. The moment you lost foothold on the ground above the endless pit, the remains of your sanity was scattered around the world like shards of glass!"

Exhilaration, that was a proper word for what the two personalities that had merged together felt at the moment. It wasn't much of an emotion (Hell, who needed those pointless things anyway?) but it still felt incredibly good – the adrenaline surging trough their body with the speed of light and a shuddering almost silent inhale of breath was taken. Both of the two personalities had different reason for feeling such things.

Drake because he'd _won_, he'd successfully did what he'd promised himself from the moment that Sam Temple had defied him in such a humiliating – both to himself and those who'd been watching – way, and burnt his arm off. He'd _killed_ Sam Temple, did what Caine Soren had failed so miserably to do and was therefore automatically superior to the arrogant bastard who was his previous leader. Of course, he'd been stronger both mentally and physically before, but the brown-haired teenager currently clinging to his body like a broken child was a living example of this. Sam wasn't dead physically, oh no no no~ He was still very much breathing and his heart still pumped in a rapid speed inside his chest. But on the inside... Sam was as dead as anyone who'd gotten a knife shoved through their most vital organ, and thereafter Drake had ripped the sharp object out again and coated the whole surrounding area with beautiful crimson blood.

It wasn't the blood in itself that was beautiful, but the fact that it was Sam's blood.

Red blood.

Warm blood.

_Delicious_ blood.

The same crimson liquid that had been surging through Sam's body with inhuman speed and made sure he was alive – and was now splattered all across the area in Drake's sick, sadistic imagination. Drake found he was lost in his fantasizes, and the other creature he shared body with – his one and only master – took over completely, if only for a moment.

The Gaiaphage's reason was because it had managed to demolish the one human that had brought a halt to its plan of ruining the last remains of Perdido Beach's population. He was now deleted from existence. What laid left was – as previously stated – an empty shell that had once been Sam Temple. The boy that was currently sobbing into his arms wasn't even a decent treat anymore. But he could still be used. Because he was a lucky one, retaining powers that were extremely useful, greater than any in the FAYZ – except for that dumb twin brother of his, and the insignificant little boy that was blessed with powers magnificent enough to defy the Gaiaphage's, although he now lay sick with the plague which had only one means of escape: death. But Sam hadn't used his power's full potential, because he'd been frightened.

Hah! Such a foolish little weakling, but he was also so very amusing.

Especially now when he was in the Gaiaphage's hands. It was incredibly ironic, though, how every human that had gained a particular strong power had fallen because of it. Little Pete was an exception, but he was considered dead now in the Gaiaphage's farseeing eyes. Caine had fled to that damned island where he skulked with that wrenched, unimportant girl of his, hiding like the big coward he was. Previously Caine Soren had had money, fame and acceptance from the majority of people, but he'd lost all of it. Pathetic little boy. Sam wasn't any better, lying here broken in the villain's arms but at least he hadn't run away. Yet. Even though the chances of escaping were close to zero, and all odds were against him, including his own will.

Drake was still thinking about the horror he could inflict on Sam. Maybe it would have been fun damaging him both ways instead...

'_Still,'_ it echoed in Drake's mind, _'breaking him apart mentally was quite fun and easy.' _  
><em>'Indeed. But it you want, you can play with your prey all you want after I'm finished with using him,' <em>the Gaiaphage retorted in a monotone voice inside the empty black hole that was their shared mind. It was rewarded with a shriek of horror from the psychopath that was truly a living example of what insanity was.

How much time had passed? Sam didn't know, didn't care; all he concentrated on listening to was his own solid breathing and the feeling of two arms hugging around him in a protective embrace. He didn't find it the slightest bit disturbing that he was supposed to be frightened; his mind was as broken as a window which had fallen from an eighty-six floor building. Splattered all across the ground – the glass shards, not blood. Quite the sight. And there were no one left to bring the puzzle back together.

How very ironic; Drake had thought the exact same thing. Maybe the two of them were alike, at some level? Or had their personalities merged with each other? No one asked so the question was left unanswered and quickly forgotten.  
>"I'm going to die, aren't I?" The question broke the silence, even though it was quiet and shockingly calm coming from the brown-haired teen currently sitting on the floor with a broken spirit.<p>

The obvious response to that was that Sam was already dead on the inside. But both the Gaiaphage and Drake Merwin knew better than to say such a thing. They wanted him to break apart even more, if that was even possible.

"Yes," Drake said with a smile. He was the one in control now, and he pressed Sam against the wall, letting the broken teen look directly into his eyes.

"Oh." Was that acceptance? Unexpected. "Get on with it all ready."

Drake's eyes narrowed in anger at Sam's quiet words, and the other teen's widened as the tentacle rose into the air and came down at him with enormous speed; whipping him directly across the face in two extremely fast lashes. It took half a second for the hero to register the pain and get over the shock, and when he did a scream tore itself from his throat and echoed across the room. His blood boiled in agony and also fell from the cuts, the crimson liquid running down into his eyes. Unbeknownst to him Drake had whipped a large X on his face. It symbolized that the people who were supposed to look after him had brutally neglected him and abandoned him here with this stark raving mad teenager – which wasn't humane at all. Sam screamed until there was nothing coming out from his mouth, his lips still twitching with pain and pupils growing small at the current agony.

Drake drew up his thumb and harshly traced it across Sam's wound, immediately causing the blood to stream down his face even more. He looked pathetic, and Drake loved it. He let his tongue run up to the wound for a taste – if it was the Gaiaphage's sick way of showing domination that made him want to do such a disgusting thing Drake did not know, and did not particularly give a shit either. Te taste nearly choked him. Because it was blood, warm blood, delicious blood. It was Sam's blood; his prey, his broken, little prey. The crimson was smeared across both faces now, causing them to look like monsters.

"We are monsters, aren't we, Sammy-boy?"

"No," Sam sobbed hoarsely, his voice dry and pathetic, just like everything else about him.

Drake smiled. No, it wasn't a smirk; he actually smiled. It was so cold and heart-wrenching that a chill passed down Sam's shoulders. "You're too much of a pussy to die," he insited.

Then Sam's eyes widened with surprise and horror as he noticed the whip going up in the air for the second time that day.

Only this time it was more laid-back, even lazy. The snake had once been Drake's arm, but the monster that was the reason for all this to begin with had replaced it with a tentacle. The whip made a swish in the air, and came against Sam's face for the second time that day in a slower version of what had been the extreme speed from last time. Sam instantly brought his hands up to his face on sheer instinct to protect himself while wincing even though the whip hadn't hit him just yet.

Sam waited for the blow that never came, before slowly opening his eyes only to look directly at the snake-like thing only a few centimetres from his already damaged face. The crimson that had ran into his eyes and the countless tears that had fallen made his vision blurry and unfocused, but he could still see the whip moving back and forwards as if watching its prey and planning its next move. Sam took a few shaky breaths, his stare only directed at the whip and not the owner.

"Do I need to repeat it, Sammy? You're not ready. Far from it, actually. You're fucking frightened and it's written all over your face. Hah," the short but dark chuckle caused the whip to come even closer to the brown-haired teen's face, but Drake didn't move it backwards.

"You don't honestly want to die."

Something that resembled pity roamed his features.

The smell of blood in the air caused Drake's sickly smile to reappear, much to Sam's growing disproval. He didn't make a comment however, merely staring at his killer with big, dead eyes.

"But that doesn't change the fact that I'll kill you."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered as he brought a hand up to his face to feel the damage. Who he was apologizing to was a mystery both for himself and the person listening. "I'm sorry," he repeated after a particularly long wince had escaped his mouth. He'd touched the wound and had blood spread all over his hand. Sam stared at it for the longest of times with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Drake - no, The Gaiaphage - smiled coolly and licked it off. Sam simply stared. Drake soon regained control, or so it seemed, because the cold laughter that could only belong to one being filled the small, windowless room again.

"Who are you apologizing to, Sammy-boy? Astrid? Because you won't be alive long enough to tell her that you loved her? Or is it the children you're supposed to handle so well, you'll just die and then leave them to build up a community all by themselves, eh? Or is it perhaps _me _'cos you're simply not good enough?"

No answer. Sam just continued sobbing, before he bent his head forward. But Drake wouldn't allow that sort of thing; Sam was going to see death directly in the eyes whether he wanted it or not.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

No response in any kind.

"Sammy..." A warning. Last chance. There wouldn't be anything else. But Sam expected to be whipped, not anything else.

Still nothing, just a small twitch – you couldn't even count it as movement though. So Drake did what any psychopathic sadist would have done at the moment – he grabbed Sam's hand, smiled, took hold of one finger and quickly bent it backwards until the bone broke.

The scream didn't come because Sam didn't have enough of a voice to produce such a loud noise, but the twitching and mild fighting was enough for Drake. "Well?" he asked smugly, playfully holding into the broken finger and repeating the sadistic motion of bending it violently back and forward. Sam shook with pain.

"I-I..." He stopped for a half second and bit his lip, and Drake simply smiled. It was completely clear who was in charge of the three personalities that shared Drake's body.

He grabbed the second finger and broke it.

This time Sam screamed with pain.

"I-I..." he cried.

Drake raised an eyebrow. "Tick tock, Sammy-boy. One… two… three."

He counted slowly but at the end the sickening crunch of bone breaking was heard, followed by a scream.

Drake shivered with sadistic pleasure. Then he went at it for the third time. "One... two..."

Sam got the point.

"I'm sorry because I'm going to die and I don't want to!" Sam cried out, his mouth dry and lips cracked. Drake had to admit that the X on his face really did _lighten_ up his expression. The bright red smear on the brown-haired (though it wasn't so brown now, soaked with crimson) teen's face was also a pretty sight.

"I'm sorry 'cos I know you're going to kill me, and I know it but I can't accept it..." His sentence cracked at the end, but he knew better then to try hiding his facial expression. "I just can't!"

The Gaiaphage and Drake grinned equally. The whip rose to the air again, and that was all the warning Sam got before it slashed upon him once more, this time ruining his t-shirt. White. What a stupid colour when it was going to get dirty so quickly! Drake had already had his deserved fun. But that didn't mean that he'd had enough. Far from it.

This was like a repeat of what had happened when Drake first had tortured Sam, except this time it played on the mental state. Not that the FAYZ's former council leader hadn't been stripped of his self-esteem this time too.

The sting from the expected slash still roamed around in his body. The scream finally died down and he brought his head up to his knees. He cried now, freely again. "Why aren't they coming?" He sounded just like a child who'd lost his mommy and was now convinced that all hope was lost. Unfortunately for the brown-haired teen, this wasn't a mall where the mother would come out of nowhere and scold him for going away, but at the same time being happy she'd found him. Suddenly Sam craved for a mother's comfort. But there were no mothers in the FAYZ, so his silent plea was never going to be answered; he knew that.

"Because they hate you," the Gaiaphage said softly. "They hate you. They love your powers, what you can do, and the fear you strike into people. But you, the human being that is named Sam Temple. Noooo, of course not~" The voice changed to a more sadistic tone, clearly showing who was taking over. "The puppet has tried cutting off its strings. But the puppet-masters don't like that, do they?" Drake leaned closer so he could whisper the poisonous words into the vulnerable teen's ear and break his mind even more. Oh, for the joy of sadism!

"No." The answer came in-between violent sobs. Sam was already hiding his face in his arms again, though his left hand was shakily placed on Drake's shirt as an insurance that someone – anyone – was still there. Something in his mind clicked and told him that he shouldn't wish for Drake fucking Merwin to be here with him, but Sam responded with honestly thinking that he'd rather have Merwin here than anyone else. "No, they d-don't."

"That's sad, isn't it Sammy?" No sorrow or pity in his voice however. Though Sam could maybe pretend that the person in front of him actually cared. It was calming, when he could feel Drake's breath on his face. What he did not know was that Drake didn't need to breathe; he merely did it out of habit. "The fact that they left you here. With me. Still burns, doesn't it." Not a question; more of a statement. "Into the very," the sadistic teenager paused for a moment and placed a finger on Sam's temple. "Core of your soul." He smiled a happy smile.

"Y-Yeah..."

"Would you like me to end your agony Sammy? I'm asking you again." Perhaps politer this time.

It was a tempting offer. To have Sam beg for death, beg for his own demise because he was so roughly shattered all over the ground with his damaged soul. Drake wouldn't mind Sam screaming at him to kill him every night, even if to only watch him silently as the brown-haired teenager begged and that the Gaiaphage would stop using his body.

For both sand-blonde psychopath and his radioactive master had plans for Sam's body – his powers. Perhaps not as useful as Caine's, but still dangerous enough to burn of a few of the children's heads. And Drake hoped that The Gaiaphage could make Sam watch, just like the Gaiaphage allowed the sadist to do, for the broken teen to see as his own lighting bolting hands caused death and torture wherever he wandered; seeing when it was his own power that burnt off Astrid's head with nothing he could do but think and mentally scream and howl for help – for her to forgive him. The guilt would grow big – oh yes. So large and sorrowful that Drake wouldn't be surprised if Sam turned suicidal. Actually, he hoped for it.

The only answer he received was silence. The whip made its way to Sam's neck, almost gently making a circle around Sam's neck. Sam didn't move and didn't do anything to try preventing the whip from touching him. It squeezed slowly, not quite trying, blocking Sam's air way. The brown-haired teen choked, his lungs longing for air after each second.

"Shh," Drake calmed him, and Sam immediately fell silent, his resistance disappearing.

Silence is approval, some say. Drake wondered if Sam agreed with getting killed. Half of his soul had already been scattered across the room, like pieces of a mirror. They say it results in bad luck. Hah. They also say that good always wins against evil.

Bullshit.

Sam's gaze started to drop, the eyelids flickering as he sent Drake an exhausted look before closing his eyes and swallowing one last time as the blackness that had erupted in the side of his eyelids started to draw in. He was on the edge of unconsciousness. The Gaiaphage wanted his body; not his mind. And Drake knew that, and he was fine about it. Sure, it would've been more fun with the broken teen around, but hey, not everyone can be pleased!

Then he said something that made Drake smile. Smile. It wasn't a cold smile either, or even a serial killer smile. It was a smile of sheer happiness. Drake had won. Sam knew it and had finally accepted it.

"Thank you."

Suddenly the door was burst open, the silver desk violently shoved away. Loud voices echoed across the room. Drake knew what was coming, and he sighed.  
>A shriek tore through the room, clearly belonging to a female. Drake turned around, the smile wiped off his features, replaced with a slightly irritated and bored expression.<p>

"S-Sam," the blonde bitch whispered eyes wide. She was shaking.

Drake sighed. "Dammit. You fucktards always have to ruin the fun, don't cha?" He watched as Orc was staring at him with eyes as wide as Astrid's, a mix between shock, horror and disgust because of his own actions on his face.

With a growl, the hulk-like boy hurled himself at the psychopath, knocking him across the room. The whip let go of Sam's neck, but the brown-haired teen showed no signs of moving. Drake didn't even bother to sit up; he'd only be punched down again. And just as he'd assumed, Orc's giant hand connected with his face. Drake inwardly cursed the Gaiaphage for not being here at the moment. His_ master_ – oh how the word tasted like bat shit in his mouth – deserved some pain too! The monster dragged him up, furious that Drake's skull was cracked but he was still very much intact. It merged back to its usual state so fast that it could almost not be caught by the human eye.

"What have you done with Temple, you bastard?" Orc asked quickly, shaking the psychopathic teen's body back and forth like a rag-doll. Drake seemed uninterested with the situation and not the slightest emotion showed on his face. "Well?"

"The answer is really obvious," Drake stated. "I killed him." No regret or guilt in his voice.  
>Astrid screamed, rushing across the room as soon as she knew that Orc held Drake tightly against the wall.<p>

"Sam, Sam, Sam," she continued to say his name before a gasp of horror escaped her mouth again, this time from seeing Sam's face, chest and broken fingers. His eyes were closed and he made no signs of movement. "Oh my God!" she screamed as she felt for his pulse. "It's so weak," she murmured thickly while tears streamed down her face.

Astrid turned to the psychopathic boy held against the wall. "How could you?"

"How could I?" Drake seemed bored. "I didn't do anything other than what was expected. You know it. Who's to blame is simple: you guys. You're the ones who locked poor, mentally unstable little Sammy into this room with me to teach him a lesson. A punishment for an accident. Because the guilt that was already eating his soul simply wasn't good enough." He talked as if sharing the facts from an English essay.

"No! It's your fault! You almost killed him!"

Drake rolled his eyes, and ignored the fact that Orc was crushing his bones under his vice-like grip. "I might be the one who tortured him and almost killed the unimportant little heroic bitch over there. But still~ I wasn't the one who put him here, chained and unable to defend himself."

Astrid's retort got stuck in her throat, and she swallowed thickly while tears were still streaming like a never-ending waterfall from her eyes.

The psychopath liked this and flashed a small, shit-eating grin. "You know what Sammy said, when I was breaking his fingers? That he was sorry. 'Cos he couldn't match up to anyone's expectations. He was so sad, he even apologized to me. Hugged me close, because he's got no one else. Cute, huh? He goes to the person that's killing him because he has nobody to turn to." The voice was smug, arrogant and above all, mocking. The sentence caused Orc to gape at him for a moment due to the new information. It was dark in the room, the only light being the one coming from the door.

You could still see the glinting, shark-like, white teeth. Then the silence roamed for about three second before Orc threw Drake across the wall, watching as the crimson-soaked teenager hit the wall with a sickening _crunch!_

Astrid looked at the form with horror. Drake had obviously broken his neck with the force that he had hit the wall with, and he looked like some kind of deformed doll. Knowing that the damage wouldn't last long, she took a deep breath and collected all her courage before lifting Sam up. She had no problem seeing how light-weighted he was. Why had nobody thought of the fact that perhaps the big leader was also starving? No, of course not. He was Sam Temple. Sam the freak. Sam the leader; he couldn't starve, because he was no human.

Therefore he had no emotions and was a cold cruel bastard with no heart and not a teenage hero with normal teenage problems. Astrid grew cold, remembering the things Sam had heard the kid discussed. She felt bad for him but at the same time she held him responsible for the case. It was he who couldn't be fully trusted and didn't understand the great responsibility which came with being a hero.

Sam lay lifeless, pressed against her back, since Astrid had decided to carry him piggyback. His auburn hair was still covered with blood. He smelled like blood. There was blood everywhere, on his clothes, on his face, in his hair, even on Drake's face and hands.

"He never wanted to be the hero."

Sam's reaction to Drake's honest words was a small twitch; but it didn't go unnoticed by the female carrying him and the psychopath leaning against the wall, his back finally going back to its natural form.

Sam turned around, his gaze blurry and unfocused. But there were still a smile on his face.

"_Thank you_."

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**A/N: **Yes. I have an obsession on comparing anger issues to boiling lava. This isn't dark-dark. Don't complain. You haven't read dark-dark fictions if you think this is dark-dark.

Sequel? Beg for it. Though it will probably involve sex.


	3. Never Land

**Disclaimer: **Gone™ belongs to Michael Grant. Duh.

**Rated:** T

**Beta: **JokerGrace – bet cha I'm the only one remembering your time as Unlucky Word Shaker

**Warning:** Some mentions of death.

**Type: **Prequel.**  
><strong>

**Genre:** Tragedy.

**Pairing:** Vague mentions of Sastrid, some hinted Zil/Astrid.

**Summary:** Sam fell as a hero that day. And then the whole town fell with him.

**Words:** 1'623

**A/N:** Originally posted 03.06.11.

There's a forest surrounding Perdido Beach in this fic – a plot point of utter importance. Prequel of Ash – perhaps I will post this _in_ the actual fic to clear it up, this explains it pretty smoothly. 'Till then, enjoy this little piece I am most utterly pleased with. *wink*

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**Never Land**

**Prequel of Ash**

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"_Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler"_ -Friedrich Nietzsche

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Jump.

Avoid trees.

Run.

Quicker – whatever's behind you may come closer if you keep at a normal speed.

But truth be told, there was nothing behind the boy.

The reason that he ran so fast was that he couldn't let his guard down for a second was that the terror resided too deeply inside of his soul to do anything like that. It was a miracle he got any sleep at all. Though you could see the evidence of lack of sleep on his face, in the form of deep black circles under his eyes. His auburn hair was dirty and the boy was sure that he smelled, but he was too busy surviving to notice. Hygiene was something alien to him at the moment, because Sam Temple only ran on instinct, trying to ignore those bothering human thoughts, doubts, and other useless feelings circling around in his head.

Run.

Runrunrunrunrunrun.

It was surprisingly how hollow his head was, when you thought about it.

Sam hadn't time for emotions; he had to focus on the almost impossible task he fought to archive every day: finding something remotely edible that could stop the starvation.

It hurt, oh yes, the stomach-ache felt like it was eating his insides out like those worms that had eaten that weird boy all those weeks ago. Weeks, months, years, did it really matter?

And he should've stopped thinking about that poor boy that had been viciously murdered. Such thoughts brought memories, and memories brought out emotions, and they were always dark and horrific. Never anything happy and light.

Oh, but he did have happy and light memories, it wasn't that – it was the pain that came when he remembered that he was never going to experience that same happiness ever again.

A soft noise sounding like a mix between a snort and a sob escaped his lips. It was more animalistic than anything else, but you could easily mistake Sam for an animal if you didn't look closely – if you didn't see those human features, and just saw his outer appearance from a distance away.

Sam stepped onto the pavement of Perdido Beach and gently sniffed in the air. Perhaps he had focused on his outer previous in a previous

He lived amongst nature now so he could easily recognize some of the smells (other then the stinking trash that lay in big piles around here) that signalized danger and other gruesome things. The cemented ground was painful on his bare feet, since he'd long ago dropped the shoes when he realized they were only weighing him down. His feet preferred the soft ground in the forest he mostly stayed in, the dark-green grass tickling his thick skin there gently. It was one of the few luxuries he had left.

It was dark in the forest, yes, an unwanted blackness that made Sam almost unable to see in it, but it also had a certain safeness. The insurance that his enemies saw as little as he did comforted him, and he knew the forest much better then they did anyway.

He quickly jumped up and ran in the same fast manner across the pavement, refraining from walking in the middle of the road and staying close to the sideline. There weren't any cars to be afraid of, but he had to make sure that if he spotted the slightest hint of something except from the darkness, he could just jump into a nearby garden, run over it and into the forest again, into safety.

_Food..._ His mind screamed at him to find it.

The auburn-haired boy's feet slapped against the pavement in a rapid flurry of footsteps before he easily jumped over a fence and into a house. He briefly remembered storing some things in this particular house.

The door was unlocked – much like every building in the ghost town that had been named Perdido Beach. He remembered that _the monster_ had renamed it something stupid after his own name – his human name – but Sam hadn't even cared to remember. The monster brought too many painful memories, most of them which he could not handle properly and ended up curling onto the floor in a foetal position.

Rocking back and forth until it went away completely, leaving nothing but the dunking side effects of mental pain of the loss of... of... Astrid. The name brought so much pain and suffering to his existence that Sam tripped down the stairs he was running up, managing to hit his head. He groaned in pain; not from the wound that he had got when falling down, but my all those painful memories that single name brought.

Astrid...

She hadn't believed him when he'd told her that _the monster_ was a true monster. She'd thought that everyone was human when it came down to it, and that: _"The Human Crew is just a pack of misunderstood kids who're driven by jealousy! With some talking, I'm sure I can come to an agreement with them and convince them that what they're doing is wrong!"_

Sam groaned again. He remembered doing the same when she had suggested that stupid idea. Though that time he'd demanded that she didn't even try that, because it was destined to fail. This time he could do nothing.

He didn't remember much more because his brain started hurting as a warning when he thought more about the matter. What he did remember was the brief sting on his left cheek in the form of a harsh slap, and the furious rant that had followed. Astrid must've been the one doing that to him. Sam shook his head, trying in vain to get rid of the thoughts.

He was there for one purpose only, and that was to find that damned food his stomach kept on screaming about. Blocking out everything else, he kicked open the door.

He managed to get to his feet with arching movements, wincing as he made his way up the stairs.

He'd been through worse. Much worse.

You see, Astrid had been taken captive. _The_ small _monsters_, or the Human Crew, as they preferred to be called, had her in a hostage situation and demanded that Sam turn himself in. They didn't threaten Sam with murdering his girlfriend from far away – no, instead they'd walked straight into Perdido Beach with the main monster, Zil, holding a knife to Sam's struggling girlfriend's throat. Of course, they'd insisted that if Sam didn't do as they demanded and came freely, they would do horrible things to her, horrible. He briefly remembered Zil describing how he'd enjoy... sexually assaulting Astrid, describing how pleasurable it would be for both... It was vile.

And Sam couldn't do anything else than stand and listen. Of course he'd turned himself in, it was obvious, wasn't it? And they didn't let Astrid go either, just captured her as easily as before with a gun pressed against her temple as soon as Sam was knocked unconscious with the bottom of Lance's (one of Zil's most trusted henchmen) gun.

Then the whole town fell.

When their hero was taken away and everybody believed he was dead, hope disappeared as well. They'd lost their one and only savoir and fell with him.

Some was 'converted' to believing that freaks were evil, and joined the massive hunt of capturing and storing them inside Coates – the Human Crew's new mansion, fan-named Zoates by guess-who.

Poor Sam was locked inside the room as a prisoner. With, well, with no chance of escaping whatsoever.

Sam was brought back to reality as he began searching for his special place. There the things he'd looked was – hidden behind the bookshelf lay several boxes of tomato sauce, and Sam greedily opened one of the boxes and poured down the remains of the icky liquid, getting red all over his tattered clothes. He had to save the rest, even though he was still hungry. He knew what he'd do when the storage was empty; he'd have to search around the town for some more again. He hated that, because that meant going into empty houses in the middle of the night – he never dared during day time – and looking for food. Sometimes he discovered rotten corpses, but he stayed away once he noticed the smell of rotting flesh. He knew it well – too well. He'd managed to escape from the place though.

"Dammit!" Sam shouted harshly, before covering his mouth with his hands. Keep quiet, keep quiet... His eyes narrowed in anger on himself. Why did his thoughts – why did he think at all? – manage to sway back to that? It was in the past, and the past did not matter. Not anymore, anyway. He had to focus intensely on staying alive. With those demands at himself, Sam slumped down beside the bookshelf, slowly pushed it back in place and sighed.

Yes, he had managed to escape. Burnt a hole in the wall actually. And... And... The druggie guy. He no longer existed.

It wasn't Sam's fault.

Nononono.

He'd simply been in the way. And he'd stood and teased Sam about being in a cage while those _monsters_ did horrible things to Astrid. Sam had convinced himself that the druggie boy hadn't felt anything as his head was b-b-burned off after he burnt down the wall and managed to escape.

Away from the c-c-corpse, completely fine.

No.

Not mentally.

Sam's mind went blank, and he stopped thinking any longer. All his thoughts vanished from his mind, and his eyes lost their shine. He stumbled up, ignoring the pain in his head and stomach. He then ran down the stairs, out the door and headed for the forest.

Don't think.

Run purely on instinct.

That's right.

Runrunrunrunrunrun.


	4. Behind The Mask

**Disclaimer: **Face the facts. Gone™ will never be mine.

**Rating: **M

**Warning:** Slight non-consensual themes, if you could call it that. DARK-DARK.

**Beta:** JokerGrace, you're awesome. Thanks for feeding ma ego!

**Type: **Oneshot.**  
><strong>

**Genre: **Pure horror.

**Pairing:** Slight but not really Gaiaphage x Drake. GaiaDrake?

**Summary: **The Gaiaphage wanted Drake to submit to its twisted will entirely. It wanted to break Drake without ruining his sadistic spirit.

**Words: **2'538

**A/N:** Don't read unless you can handle utterly_ sick_ fanfictions! And not sick in a good way, but in a grotesque sicksicksick way. Originally posted 4-21-11.

It isn't the darkest I've written before, but it still needs proper warning. If you're a pussy and you're reading this Imma gonna tell yo mama.

Set when Drake was visiting The Gaiaphage for the first time :D ...That smiley face is really unfitting.

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**Behind The Mask  
><strong>

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"_Say, it'll make you insane  
>And I'm bending the truth<br>You're to blame  
>For all the life that you'll lose<br>And you watch this space  
>And I'm going all the way<br>And be my slave to the grave  
>I'm the priest God never paid"<em>

Muse - The Small Print

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Drake knows this shit is an illusion. He is standing in the creature's cave, there are drops of sweat on his forward, his sand-blonde hair is almost glued to his face, everything seems so real, but he knows it cannot be. He takes a step forward in a desperate attempt to save what is left of his dignity, though all his human instincts scream at him to flee; that he isn't strong enough to defeat this foe. That he will die. Here. Alone. In this fucking creature's cave, with no one to ever gaze upon his soon-to-be rotten corpse ever again.

He clutches his gun. It the only remaining objective he knows exists, and isn't an illusion like everything else in this godforsaken place. There's so much blackness that it prevents him from feeling comfortable even though he has the upper hand in this situation; the gun.

"What the fuck do you want?" His voice is hoarse and the question is pressed out between lips that he has bitten until they bled. Muttering each word hurts like a bitch but Drake ignores it.

Humans fear what they don't know, what they don't understand. Which is one of the many reasons that children and grown people are frightened to the very core of their soul of the dark. Because who knows what kind of monsters might hide in it? But in reality there are no monsters at all – merely objects of fantasy that our minds has made up, ignorant of that or not.

Drake does not fear the dark. But he knows there's something in it, something horrible, and that's what making his instincts scream so much and his little piece of sanity begs him to turn around and run; away from this place and never return.

The Gaiaphage watches the timid – even though he hides it well with the fake confidence in his silver eyes – boy and waits for him to make his next move_. _"You seem to misunderstand the situation here. Forgetting which is in stronger of the two of us." Its crooning voice fills Drake's head. And then the Gaiaphage concludes that he needs to learn his place as a faithful little puppet, where the Gaiaphage is the only one allowed to pull the strings.

Drake feels an immense pressure – greater than anything he's felt before – suddenly come crashing down over his whole being. Drake's knees give in and hit the stone floor hard. The gun falls out of his hand, crashes to the floor and Drake screams himself hoarse as the gruesome agony penetrates and tortures every one of his cells as the sensation of having thirty tons of water dumped over him simultaneously engulfs him almost completely. It wraps around him like blanket, completely the opposite to a soft and comfortable one, as instead it makes his whole body arch and tremble in pain.

After a few brief but eternal seconds the pressure lifts, and the boy is against the floor on all fours panting raggedly, silver eyes wide as a cold sweat saturates his skin. He looks even worse then before, eyes bloodshot, puffy and red and the boy wonders briefly if he has been crying. He is shaking and a tense hand is brought upon his face and gently touches the skin there. Yes, certainly, he has been crying. Wet stripes of salty tears, skin that almost burns; the skin under his eyes proves it. His immediate response to this is quickly taking his hand away as if he'd been burnt.

Shame washes over him just like the pressure did a moment ago, his cheeks burning with embarrassment over just how _weak _he is in the current time. While he lies there, panting for precious oxygen to refill his tortured lungs, a sudden anger more immense and greater then before absorbs him.

He is furious at the being that has done this to him, made him lose his face instantly after he had muttered a single question to the radioactive creature. He shakes as anger surges through him and boils his blood like someone has just turned the heat in his body up a hundred degrees, reaching a fever pitch.

The boy shakes with barely surpassed anger, having serious problems controlling his urge to do nothing more then to beat the shit out of the fucking invalid that has done this to him. Drake looks awfully tired and is unaware of how worn out he both looks and acts. He stares straight ahead for a moment before tossing his body to the side, rolling around and grabbing the gun in a such a short amount of time that it doesn't take a quarter of a second before he's up standing again, the weapon in his hand and his eyes determined to kill whatever the fuck tries to mess with him again. For a moment – only for a moment – he expects the Gaiaphage to attack him again on the mental area, causing a headache worse than before. He snarls, evidence of all the frustration he is feeling in the disrespectful sound.

"You're just a pathetic and dumb little kid," the Gaiaphage then informs in its crooning, emotionless voice and that's the last linguistic warning the sand-blonde child obtains.

"I want you to feel how pathetic you are, boy, and not just that you are defeated. I want you to feel utterly and entirely hopeless; to see that there is no escape from me because I now rightfully_ own_ you.

Hope is a mere _illusion_ for you now." The volume rises to unreachable heights at the end of the second sentence, and Drake covers his ears in an attempt to block out the horrible, screaming noise. It is as if someone has forced a directional loudspeaker to be seated right by his ear and then turned the volume up to the extreme; threatening to make him deaf for the rest of his life.

"Fuck you," Drake replies with unwelcome tears burning behind his closed eyelids. Such an answer with vulgar language isn't in the Gaiaphage's list of preferences and he decides that the boy needs a punishment to know how deep the hole he is sinking into really is. "This is a fucking illusion! Nothing more," Drake hisses through gritted teeth.

"Of course it is." No denial in the silvery tune whatsoever.

Clothes shreds away from his body as water for fire, disappearing into nothingness as they are ripped away from his body, leaving him bare there in front of the invisible foe. Drake clutches his gun tighter while muttering calming words to himself in a desperate attempt to calm his frenzy-beating heart.

"What are you going to do with that?" the Gaiaphage asks and the boy. It can see his thoughts razing in his mind, even before the boy has even thought them himself.

Drake blinks. Twice. There's something wrong with the context in his hands, and he looks down to see that the object he's clutching is not his gun but himself, his manhood hot in his hands, and he lets go immediately. Horror dashes over his face in a flash once he understands the depth of the situation. The gun is flying in the air before landing in a dark corner with a soft _thud_.

"Foolish boy. Throwing away your only weapon like that," The Gaiaphage says in its regular emotionless tone, and there is no hint of any emotion at all. Drake still feels as if it's silently laughing at him. "Your only way to save yourself from this nightmare. You are just a foolish child."

That is a lie – he would've fallen anyway – but the lie runs its course and hopelessness races through Drake's veins like lightening. He has willingly thrown away the only object that could've granted him survival. Or so he thinks, and is not aware that the Gaiaphage's scheme is going exactly how it planned it. The boy is at the ground before its feet (a statement. Because the creature has no feet in the current occasion.) and finally understands how utterly helpless he is.

"Fuck you."

At least it's the beginning of the way. As guessed, he is still ever so deviant. It bothers the Gaiaphage and once it understands the whole content of what it can do in this instant. And with a new intention in mind, it would've grinned mischievously, if it had a mouth, that is.

Drake's body is still shaking and the anger goes out of him like at an air-balloon you've put a hole in, all the rage flying out of him like air. Then the rustling chains appear from no where, making a soft _clink _sound as they attach to his arms and legs, forcing his body to the ground of what seems like eternal darkness. "This is an illusion," he hisses, eyes wide with adrenaline and fear racing through him while it feels like his heart it going to come up to his throat. "Just a damn illusion." He isn't supposed to feel so fucking vulnerable, because he's _not really_ chained, naked, in front of a beast that could do whatever he wants to him. Drake wonders if his emotions and how dreadfully weak he feels facing this abomination are also fake.

"Repeating that to yourself will not work on getting you free," The Gaiaphage informs in the usual monotone voice as if it's reading the words up from a piece of paper.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Well well – The answer is quite obvious. Here you are, chained, naked, vulnerable and-"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!"

"-quite tempting to break."

Drake swears that the tune is turning smug at the end of the sentence. _Break_? What could it possibly mean by that? It is a simple verb set together by five letters all with a different way of pronouncing. Though the word contains a much more interesting tale. Does it want to break Drake? How? The answer lies deep within the boy's soul, hidden behind closed doors that were never meant to be opened. The key is also concealed as if the invalid locking the door had purposely hidden it well.

Out of a nothing a thin piece of cloth appears and wraps around his head in an almost soft manner, which persuades Drake that it is made of the purest silk. The comfortable feeling does not last long however as he finds that the cloth is blocking his vision. Though there has been nothing but pitch-black around him, he now lacks sight and only now he understands how damn weak he was without it. Well, weak_er_.

When he throws his fists wildly around him in an attempt to escape this blind madness, the chains tightens around his hands and forces him to be still. Perhaps it is the boy's imagination. It is an illusion, everything. He forces his breathe to get back down to a regular level.

He then freezes in motion. Slim hands, all on his body, touching him and running over his skin with forbidden and sensual movements appear out of nowhere and he screams, screams at the top of his lungs because it's so _wrong_ and _gruesome _and it _tortures_ himand _Oh my God I'm falling I'm falling help me help me help me help me help- _

It's like a hole. A pitch black hole where you are certain of a bottom and you constantly try to protect yourself from the impact. But there_ is_ no hole because he is lying right _there_ with the goddamn hands running all over his naked flesh.

It takes forever before he understands that there is no key to this twisted nightmare. Something weakly glimmers in his mind telling him that it's not words or begging escaping from his mouth – oh no, we are far past that – and the screaming he swears he hears – is it his own? Drake does not know – does that belong to him? But he feels so dead, like he's gazing upon his own twitching body that has finally given up. Only quiet and sore screams regularly get torn from his throat as the blackness becomes particularly more engulfing then it already is.

"Please..." The word is alien on his mouth, and the fact that he is begging burns worse then any burn-mark inflicted by another human being. Human being? No, the... thing that did this is far from human. Oh, how the mighty has fallen. The King that was so certain that he had the upper hand and was going to win this time had fallen off his horse and broke his soul along with the fall. Now he was reduced to a mere invalid who was uncertain and hesitating in battle. The Holy Majesty simply wasn't strong enough. Still isn't strong enough.

The bind before the boy's eyes removes itself as if it has been taken away by ghostly hands, revealing a pair of silver eyes that are still in a state of shock. He has yet to move and notice that he isn't vulnerable at all, all his clothes are intact and the gun is lying a few meters away from his violently twitching body.

Deadly silence is driving him mad, though he is too terrified to even try making a sound to break it. He is so stiff as he moves into a sitting position that every limb crunches with the light movement.

Guilt? Where did that come from?

Why is he experiencing such a horrible emotion when the one that did this to him should be, should be experiencing thi- Had it all happened? He didn't even dare to look down at his body as he takes a few, hesitant steps in reverse while his eyes widens. Drake doesn't even notice that there's a snake coiling around his bad arm and _won't go off_. The boy's mind is solemnly focused on finding out about this fucking illusion.

Because that's the frightening thing here. If everything Drake just experienced is not true, does that mean that he's going insane? More then he already is, that is. He blinks and freezes in motion. Twice. Again. Realisation dawns upon him and he bails his hand into a fist. The snake-arm hits the air with an encouraging slash, echoing through the cave, but Drake pays no attention to it. He is so fucking confused that he takes a step backwards and falls on his back while a sore shriek erupts past his lips and the boy lies there twitching violently while wondering if all the shit he just went through was a product of his own sick imagination.

Suddenly the fear is replaced by hate. Solemn, burning hate directed at the being that _made _him come here in the first place. He loathes that being because it's _his _fault that Drake Merwin went into this cave, into this nightmare which will continue to hunt him for forever and after.

Sam Temple is destined to die by his hands. And Drake is sure that he is going to put the other teenager through the exact same horrors, if not worse, that the sadistic psychopath just went through.  
>And the monster behind him can see every thought.<p>

"Yes. That will do," the Gaiaphage croons.


	5. Alluring chI & chII

**Disclaimer: **Gone™ in written by Michael Grant, and Sherlock Holmes is written by the Scottish physician named Arthur Conan Doyle back in the time _before _the television. Both books belong to their rightful owners and producers of the book – obviously, I am not in that section. _Sad face._ I am also broke, so please don't sue.

**Rating:**T+

**Warning: **General human cruelty, some censored torture, strong language, death, killings, prostitutes, molesting, some slight gore, slight sexual themes, references to alcohol, and Astrid being a bitch (let's pretend she's PMSing or something).

**Beta: **JokerGrace – you're amazing, thanks for helping me with this!

**Type: **Discontinued story.

**Genre: **Crime, mystery.

**Pairing:** CainexDiana, mentions of SamxAstrid & one-sided TaylorxSam.

**Summary: **AU, London 1890. Detective Temple is dragged into a web of games and riddles once he accept to investigate the "Allure"-murders.

**Words: **19'590

**A/N:** Posted 4-26-11 and updated 7-8-11.

I have the whole story line ready – but, it seems like Sherlock Holmes fictions aren't popular in the Gone™ fandom, and after 20'000 words and seven reviews I understood that I wouldn't get the proper feedback and encouragement I needed to continue on such a fic. I have never been one of those "give me 5265874365 hits and 437658374+8 reviews and I will _maybe_ update!" people, because it is lame simply writing because you want reviews. I didn't continue this because, well, I didn't have inspiration anymore and no readers demanding to see more, and therefore I stopped.

Hope you enjoy nevertheless.

Set around 1890, y'know, right after the Jack the Ripper murders of prostitutes occurred in London. Wikipedia it, the history is bloody but quite_ fun_ to read about.

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**Alluring**

**Chapter one and two of an unfinished fic – Ancient & Abstruse.**

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_"My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know." _ -Sherlock Holmes, The Adventure of Blue Carbuncle

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The window was open, he dimly noticed, allowing an ice-cold breeze to fill the room and move the curtains back and forth in a soundless dance. The person who praised real beauty was watching the almost ghost-like sight, allowing a quiet sigh to escape his lips. The breeze allowed fresh oxygen to roam freely around in the room, which was an uncommon occurrence here in the old buildings which stood in the heart of England: London.

Footsteps echoed through the large hall as he gave the man walking beside him a calculating look. "Decapitated, you said?" He repeated the police officer's earlier words in a calm tone, chewing at the information like a dog gnawing on its bone. He wasn't the least bit shocked that he had been given this case, because really, who could blame the police? They had _enough_ on their plates, what with catching the useless thugs running around stealing ladies' purses (sarcasm intended) and from preventing the press from discovering the nasty little secrets that hid behind every well-respected officer in the entire department. The façades was more important than anything, which was something that _this_ particular person had learned during his years working with them.

The maroon-coloured coat flew behind him, creating a dark look as if he were a villain of some sort. His thick auburn hair was run through with grease of an expensive sort, though it wasn't enough to make his hair look like plastic compared to the police officer's thin, silver hair. His eyes were slightly narrowed into a scowl that seemed to have decided to permanently live on his face, possibly because of all the horror he saw in his job. There were no other man to do it, and what he did was well-paid, so this auburn-haired detective had no plans of quitting just yet. And besides – he was incredibly good at what he did.

"Yes, Detective Temple," the frightened – because you could hear evidence of it in the hoarse voice – police officer began. "Such a gruesome sight. We had to, um, _induce _the specialist to check the body. Our common man who usually does work like that took a look at the body before, um, getting quite sick due to the horror." He was obviously trying to hide the fact that the former specialist had probably ran out screaming.

"No man in this kind of business should get sick by such, no matter what kind of gruesome, deformed, dead corpse awaits them," Detective Sam Temple murmured sourly, but just loud enough for the police officer to hear. Sam started speaking again before the other man could retort with anything. "Now, who was the person you so kindly _induced_ to check the bloody body?" His drawling voice was as dry as sand from an Egyptian desert, though he merely asked out of politeness. He knew very well who it was. Because this particular doctor was the only person on this earth that _gladly _accepted work of this sort and Sam also suspected that he _enjoyed_ it as well. In his earlier statement, Sam meant that a man should be an expert in his work no matter what it was, although he also indicated that enjoying the sight of a bloodied corpse was something that shouldn't make common people happy. But then again, this doctor was far from 'common', even if his skills in the subject were unparalleled. They could simply not dare to lose him, the auburn-haired detective included. Not that Sam would ever admit this.

The date was November 13th. Snow lay covered like a blanket outside, the frozen water reducing the temperature and causing people to damn the winter that had come earlier than usual this year. The overly-religious people blamed everyone else's sins, but most of the population were just too caught up in their hard work to notice the protesters standing outside various buildings and calling mankind devils. Luckily, the two men were safety inside the large police building and therefore hidden from any the commotion. It was London after all: something was always going on outside.

Now it was silence's turn to roam the hall; the only noise that could be heard were their steps moving in a precise speed that was not exactly slow – even though the silver-haired man had some trouble keeping up. Sam ignored this; he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible and wished for nothing more than to tell the police officer that he would not take another shitty mission from these men. But he knew if he said no to one request (if only a single _one_), they'd automatically assume that he was never going to help them again; that he'd become too arrogant. Sam could simply not say no, for both financial and personal reasons.

The police officer shifted uncomfortably as they reached the door, because he had yet to come up with a proper answer that could hide the embarrassment the silver-haired man was feeling on the police-apartment's behalf. Sam had insulted their thinking way, the police officer knew, but the oldest of the well-respected Temple twins was known for having a sharp tongue. Sam merely ignored his own unanswered question as he opened the door with a shove, ignoring the police officer's quick beg that he should knock first.

The sound of a needle hitting water made a small echo around the room – seriously, these empty rooms should get some more furniture – and made the person who dropped it turn around with sheer irritation written all over his features. That was until he noticed who had decided to greet him, however, and a grin that could be described only with the vulgar but true words – a shit-eating grin – lit up his face. The person who wore it looked like a fox that had just swallowed a chicken hole and was now amusing himself properly. Sam half-expected him to lick his lips.

"Ah, Sammy," Caine greeted as if they were old friends – which they had never been. Sam stayed as silent as before, standing in the doorway and waiting for his brother to make a move. It was always the youngest twin who decided to do something drastic to try and draw a reaction out of his stone-faced older brother who in his own opinion had a personality much like a post-box. The funny thing was that it was often said that most twins had a telepathic link or a special relationship between them which both the well-known Temple twins heartily disagreed on. That was often the only thing they usually agreed on. The two of them only had one thing in common except that standard fact that they were very, very different – both had chosen the same line of work. Not exactly the same job though, but still, both lines of employment caused them to see each other quite a lot, which wasn't exactly requested or _enjoyed_ from either part. Though Caine found comfort in teasing his brother mercilessly.

"So good to see that my dear brother is doing well," Caine said in that annoying sing-song tone of his, the enjoyment of mercilessly teasing his twin-brother without anyone rebuking him reflected by his bloody grin widening. Strolling over to his 'dear brother' he almost pulled Sam into a hug, but the oldest of the two managed to just prevent the action by placing two fingers on his chest and almost gently shoving his brother away.

"I don't want blood all over my clothes," Sam mumbled with a voice that had a slight hint of frustration as he eyed his brother's bloodied coat with a mix of disgust and annoyance on his face. That was obviously not the real reason.

When you go ahead and explain the relationship between Sam and Caine Temple, you should be aware that this is a very difficult task. There were no obvious signs of hatred roaming between them, even though what they mostly did when together was attempt to outsmart each other with sly retorts and insults. Once – only once – a fight erupted between the two for unknown reasons at a mission centring on finding a murderer who had been lurking around the streets for a while. Nothing special. There weren't many bodies and the press hadn't been concerned, seeing as it was only poor people that 'disappeared' (a nicer word than the blunt but true 'slaughtered'), but eventually Sam Temple was set on the task with his brother Caine Temple helping to set a permanent end to the problem. A fight erupted after they caught the murderer – who, by the way, committed suicide while in prison sometime later – and therefore caused most of the police to be on constant guard when dealing with the two together. It wasn't the mission itself that was hard to do, but the fact that Caine and Sam had very different opinions and not all of the emotions directed at the other were completely _nice_.

"Blood?" Caine raised an eyebrow with the question as he studied his own coat, and a smile immediately stretched on his face. "Well well, what do you know? It seems like my work here has ebbed over and onto my newly-cleaned shirt, eh? How unfortunate." He strolled back to his place behind a small desk in the middle of the room, where a white cotton blanket had been dragged over it to hide the form of a dead body. Sam had seen the scenario many times before and the sight of death itself no longer startled him. Although he had not yet seen _this_ corpse...

Sam made a sound of disapproval as the policeman finally moved inside. His gaze fled from Caine to Sam and back and forth, making sure they weren't going to attack each other. The youngest twin was clearly annoyed at the silver-haired man's lack of trust, but then again, the police force here in the city were too stupid to even understand that the brothers' fight was simply inevitable when you shut them up alone in a small room for sixteen hours and expected them to solve the case in two days.

"I would like to hand my information about the cause of death to my brother _alone_, please," Caine requested in a mild voice. Sam could tell that he was irritated; the frown on his face told him so. However, the silver-haired man still didn't listen, merely uncomfortably swayed back and forth a few times before finally taking a step forward and giving the unsaid message: _I'm going to stay because I've been ordered to. _

Caine snorted. Then his expression lit up just like he did when he concocted a genius – and evil – plan that in most cases seemed to work when Sam didn't interfere. "Very well then: do stay. If you can handle it, that is." A covert threat was hidden in his voice, perhaps, but the old police officer did not seem to notice it. Or maybe he did, but at least the silver-haired man did not take it seriously and simply ignored the hidden implication.

In a flash, Caine grabbed the hilt of the cotton blanket and ripped it off in a swift movement, revealing a heavily damaged body lying underneath. Though heavily damaged would be an understatement. The body was – as the police officer had previously stated, although Sam guessed he had never seen it before, just heard mentions – an extremely disgusting sight. No wonder Caine was all bloody after he'd worked with it. Limbs were amputated, with signs of raw red marks on the remaining pieces.

"It's like a puzzle," Caine stated with an awed expression. Sam wasn't the least bit surprised with his brother's reaction to the gruesome sight – and he had probably admired the corpse before as well. Sam's lips were pressed into a tight line, his eyes narrowed and he was forced to take a deep breath to calm himself. It instantly worked, seeing as he'd had a lot of training and experience when it came to bestial and brutal murders like this. Although he had never seen such... _flawless _work before. He had to agree with his brother at some point, because it truly was like a puzzle. Limbs cut off gracefully – if there was allowed to use such a fine word for such a cruel action – part for part, obviously cut in the exact same length, about one diameter from the next slice. Sam was about to move closer when a voice startled both brothers from gazing at the sadistic work in front of them. The smell of burnt skin hit him and his disgust immediately flooded every inch of his stomach, urging him to throw up.

'_Obviously the person who did this does not want her to be found_,' he concluded, little knowing that his theory was wrong.

"Oh my God." It came from the corner. The police man was staring at the body while clutching at his stomach. Caine smiled, but Sam didn't even need to check his smug look to see that he had planned to allow the officer to see it. The silver-haired man clapped his right hand against his mouth to prevent himself from puking while the left hand was pressed against his stomach. "Good Lord..." He repeated the religious calling, swaying back and forth much like the curtains in the previous hall. People often call to religion when gruesome and almost unexplainable (the fact that there was a girl chopped up at the table was one thing, but _who_ could honestly do something like that...?) things happened to them. Instead of explaining it, just blame it on the devil.

"The Lord is not _good_ if he did this," Caine said and laughed of his own joke, before silencing when noticing his brother's scowl deepening.

The silver-haired man took a hesitant step forward, eyes wide, before taking several paces backwards and running out like a coward, clutching his stomach. Sam did not honestly blame him – he guessed those snobbish police officers were not used to such a bestial type of murder as was the case with this particular corpse. The door slammed shut with a loud slamming noise which did not manage to startle either of the brothers. Of course, it must've been the wind that had caused it to slam shut with such force; there were no other logical reason.

"Now, if we can get back to business," Caine began, clapping his hands together in a repetitive manner before wandering off to the body, moving to let Sam get a closer look at it. Sam's face was hollow of emotions, because he ignored the feeling of obvious disgust and rather focused on the object of attention itself. It was just a corpse. Though the 'just' didn't fit into that sentence, it still calmed Sam down a great deal when he thought about it as just a mere object; not a body who had once belonged to a breathing, living person. The corpse looked really _dead_ (obviously) and was laid on a large table made of wood and painted in a maroon colour.

The surroundings looked sad; a stone wall with no windows – though you could still sense the ice-cold breeze slinking in – the furniture consisting of only a pair of wooden chairs, a desk and a couple of shelves where all the needed instruments lay just waiting for usage.

"I can safely say that this poor girl is dead," Caine began with that damned sardonic humour of his still in place. His face turned a little serious once he saw that Sam was obviously not in the mood for joking. The younger twin didn't even need to look twice to see that his brother was suffering for personal reasons: one of them he guessed being a certain Astrid Ellison. He didn't understand how his brother managed to keep up with that wrenched woman. But then again, she'd had Sam locked around her little finger and could make him do everything he wanted before he'd begun to see through her little façade (much like the police officers') and the truth came to light; she'd been using their – his, he was the one that made them – money to try find medicine for her autistic brother – and not all of the medicine had been cheap, or _legal_ for that matter. Sam had now a hard time trusting anybody – anybody at all.

Caine shook his head in frustration as Sam's gaze slid over the body in a calm and collected way. He seemed too old, too exhausted in so many ways, although it was still a 21 year old man standing in front of him, staring at the body that had previously kept a tortured soul inside. Caine sighed, "I was just messing with you, brother of mine. No need to be so _deadly_ serious," he crooned softly, a slight smirk dancing on his face.

"We're standing over a murdered body which belonged to a perfectly happy girl around fifteen and you're just messing around?" Sam hissed right at Caine's face, glaring daggers through his brother's skull. His hands were balled into fists and were quickly turning white as he took a few steps towards his brother and grabbed Caine's collar. "This is serious Caine." His voice held so much bitterness that any person who did not know this man would've been taken aback that such a formerly soothing, passive and controlled person had such anger and was able to get so furious – the way he was acting currently. Caine's smirk slowly slid off his face, but he didn't appear to be frightened at all; instead he merely frowned at his brother's weird behaviour.

Around fifteen seconds and a few deeps breaths later, the untamed rage that had been burning in his eyes disappeared completely, like someone had splashed a bucket of water on the fire. Sam immediately let go of his brother's shirt as if had burnt him and fell down onto his knees in front of Caine. The youngest brother's frown turned into a pleasant and slightly victorious smile, but Sam had yet to notice. He was facing the floor, the former wild anger replaced with guilt that seemed to tear his body apart from the inside. He went on all fours like a dog. "I'm sorry," he apologized quietly, eyes twisted with guilt without looking up at his brother. Sam sighed, "There's just been a lot going around lately. You know, with my wife and stuff like that..."

Caine's smile faltered and he crossed his arms, waiting for his older twin to finish his apology.

"...I don't need to explain what's happening between Astrid and me, do I?"

"No, you don't." Caine chewed on his lip and raised an eyebrow. Sam almost waited for him to start stroking his invisible beard, because his current appearance reminded him of an old wizard, like the ones that had been described to them by the maid who had worked at Temple manor when the twins were young. She used to tell them bedtime stories about wizards and other fantastic creatures, and Sam could remember it was an actual happy time in his life. The threat of his mother's constant mood changes seemed distant when he'd been snuggled up under a blanket, clutching Caine's body as the maid scared the wits out of them with her frightening tales. He'd loved them. Sam looked as his brother again, feeling a strange sort of remorse filling his body. The person standing in front of him was far from the younger brother who had hugged him tightly and promised to protect him from the bad wizards.

The detective ran a hand through his auburn hair for the second time that minute, a clear sign of uneasiness mixed with sheer, bone-deep frustration, although this feeling came from a bothersome memory. "It's merely impossible to keep anything from you, isn't it Caine?" His tone was slightly amused as he softly crooned the sentence; his mood seemed far better then before. He hoped he wouldn't suffer from the mood changes their mother had suffered from, though. At least he wasn't running around screaming like a banshee and accusing Caine of not being her son.

Caine's smirk returned, accompanied by a smug expression. His thoughts were obviously not the same as his brother's – at least not at the current time. "You know me too well, dear older brother." The two of them shared a moment of comfortable silence. They didn't know why they kept on referring to each other with _older_ and _younger_ in almost every sentence (this unwritten rule applied especially to Caine), but neither of them really cared either. There were only three minutes in-between their births, but it could have something to do with the fact that Sam had kept on reminding Caine that he was older with the older-brother-standard: "I'm older then you and therefore I automatically know better!" attitude when they were young.

"Now, back to business?" Caine let his hand slide over the dead body in a questionable manner. Sam nodded sternly in reply and sighed as he took off his winter jacket and placed in on a nearby desk, next to what he guessed was Caine's own version of the expensive piece of thick cotton lay. The auburn-haired man changed into the standard white lab-jacket, finishing his usual procedures by gently dripping his hand in a wooden bowl of clean water. Caine did not even bother to watch him during his foreplay, keeping his concentration on the corpse on the table.

"Now," Sam began, stifling a tired moan and stood beside Caine with a waiting facial expression. There was evident impatience in his slightly hoarse voice. Since it was around nine in the morning neither of the Temple twins were fully awake, but it wasn't like they were struggling to fight sleepiness or anything. Caine had always been an early bird – even more then Sam – so there was no surprise that he'd arrived extra early. Sam snapped out of his wandering thoughts once he noticed Caine's stare was fixed firmly on him, with an impatience that currently matched his own. "...Could you please give me a report?" They weren't twin-brothers now, they were old co-workers. Though Sam did not prefer working with his brother, he had to admit that the doctor was excellent within medicine. Caine would also have to admit that his own skill in medicine matched Sam's skill when it came to figuring out clues and general intelligence at various areas. The martial arts hand-to-hand combat that his brother had trained on when young helped on this too. But there were two major differences that separated the twins from each other momentarily.

Caine lacked a conscience. Sam did not. Even though the older brother knew that Caine had certain... sociopathic features that made him dangerous to society, he still felt a responsibly and would never, never send his brother away to a lunatic asylum. And Caine knew that, which was why he trusted his brother. Even though the trust was not responded.

"Yes, of course. All you had to do was ask." He stepped around the body and grabbed a sterilized scissor to use it as a pointing stick. "As you see here, the body is cut in several places. It seems like the killer was very interested in cutting the legs off first – I think it's because it's a place where the person wouldn't die momentarily if the killer cut the legs apart bit for bit. Seems like we got ourselves a bit of a sadistic son of a bitch, eh?" Sam did not respond to that. Not that Caine had expected him to anyway; he knew the promising detective was not fond of vulgar language, though he guessed Sam secretly agreed with his statement, vulgar language or not. "The person's name and age is unknown, though I guess she was female and around the age of fifteen to eighteen. There was no name in her clothes, and the quality of the clothes weren't the best either. Namely, she is poor. Although I know we aren't dealing with a rapist here. I found no evidence of semen." Caine paused for a moment and let his brother swallow all the information.

The detective's eyebrows furrowed in a manner that caused him to look so dreadfully old. "Perhaps he's one of those arrogant, finer gentlemen. Not that I would've used such a word on old pigs like that. He could be one of those sophisticated old pigs that likes his girls young and easily lures them into a cart with the finer things like grapes, chocolate or money. Then you know the following. Wiping away any evidence would be easy when you're part of the _finer class,_ as previously stated. Rich people often have friends with medical backgrounds."

"You've read into this," Caine said. "But still, I'm afraid you're severely mistaken. I am a master at my work and I assure you: Our fellow isn't interested in sexual activity with his victims. He's into torture."

"You sound like you know."

Caine smirked, but did not answer. They both knew it was nonsense – Caine would never have managed to keep such a thing from his brother, especially seeing as the oldest Temple was a detective who had never been particularly fond of his twin. A great doctor and co-worker at some point, but when the conversations got a little private the difference between the twins lighted up the sky. Their believes, the people they associated with and most of all the person(s) they were romantically involved in – it shone through quite clearly. "You're the detective," Caine began in a slightly smug tone. "You're the one who has to find a primary suspect, and as far as I'm concerned, you currently have none."

"That is true," Sam admitted grievously. "But is does not change the situation and it is _not_ actually considered my fault. It's the doctor's fault, brother of mine, and if I'm not mistaken..." A slight smirk danced gleefully on his facial expression, making it obvious that Sam was enjoying the comeback. "You're the doctor... are you not?"

The first thing that came to Caine's face was a scowl. His brother had outwitted him so easily, barely lifting a mere finger. The expression quickly reverted back to his standard smirk. "Ah-ah-ah," he wiggled his finger back and forth in warning. "Don't get too cocky with me Sam. ...But even though I hate to admit it – You're right. That is the problem here, because I can't find a trace of evidence on the body." Something close to bitterness in the youngest brother's voice. It was not hard to guess why; Caine had never been the one to enjoy a game where he lost.

"That's where I come in, isn't it?" The detective asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes. He walked to the table, running a hand through his auburn hair. A brief coldness was wrapped like a silky blanket around him, causing goose-bumps to appear all over his skin. Funny that, why he hadn't noticed the cold so much before. Well. Blame it on the jacket. "Damn cold," he muttered. "Why couldn't they just invest in those bloody holes in the walls instead of using the money on themselves? The cases would've progressed at a faster rate if the investigators didn't have to freeze their buttocks off every time they were going to check on a body." He finished his rant with a snarl, ignoring his _damned_ brother's amusement.

Sam took a final look at the body.

"It's almost impossible to recognise her," he stated in a more quiet tone then last time. "The killer knows what he's doing; cutting her face up so she wouldn't be found."

"You're the expert, so get working." Sheer impatience danced on the young doctor's face and he did not even bother to hide it, though Sam had never expected him too. Caine mostly kept to himself over his beliefs and thoughts, but obviously he didn't see Sam as a foe with the potential to tell his secret to anybody else.

Sam glared hard at his brother. "Well if I'm the expert," he spat the words like meat that had lied rotting in his mouth for the past few decades. "Then why are you still here?"

"You need my knowledge on the medical area, _detective_. I thought you were bright enough to know from former occasions that you don't have the skills which I posses within medicine." The lightly teasing tone that always clung playfully in his voice was still there, but perhaps drowned a bit by a more serious undertone. Caine was _not _willing to leave his place as this new case's doctor just yet.

Unbeknownst to Sam, Caine Temple almost _felt _that this was pointing in the direction of something enormous. And he had no plans of sharing that fact with his older brother, because Sam would let the case go: Caine knew he didn't see himself as mentally stable enough to work on such a large case. Caine believed he was suffering from a great disease called _ignorance_. Caine required his brother's splendid brain to help him on this case if he was going to get any financial gain out of it at all.

When he first had accepted the job, there was no looking back. But when he wrote his first investigator-report, he'd immediately been obliged to follow the case up, unhappy or not. Caine doubted that the police officers would hand out surveys which asked if they liked working or not.

Sam was silent for a moment and understood that he was in a dangerous area, even though it wasn't his intention. He almost shrank under his brother's intense gaze, because it showed how 'hurt' the doctor was and had taken Sam's doubt as an insult. The auburn-haired man ran a hand through his unruly, thick hair and groaned. "I did not mean it like that, Caine. I know you are invaluable in this situation." That was the closest thing to a second apology Caine would revive at the moment. The reason for Caine's (fake) anger had been shallow, but of course with Sam being the goody-two-shoes he was, he immediately felt bad.

Caine waved it off. "Yeah, yeah," he said softly. "Just don't insult me like that." He went to the body again. "But would you please get on with it?" he asked in a slightly sterner voice this time, implying that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

The auburn-haired detective didn't respond at once but it was evidently true that he had an inner debate whether or not to let Caine see him working. A slight smirk came to his face. "I'll do it. But why the hurry?"

Now it was the doctor's turn to smirk, though his was certain of what he found funny. "I am having dinner with a certain Miss Ladris tonight," he said, with an almost dancing way of speaking, each word having its own part in an orchestra of happiness. "Reserved seats at one of the finest French restaurants, Annabelle. It cost an arm and a leg..." he trailed off, but the unsaid words of 'but I'd do anything' hung in the air.

"I thought you had better things to do with your life then go running after married women, Caine," Sam warned in his own way, giving his brother a stern but forgiving look. It wasn't something new that the promising doctor was going after Diana Ladris, a beautiful chestnut-haired girl with dark hazel eyes, who was unfortunately married to the owner of the bank in town: Albert Hillsborough. A name worth bloody remembering. Caine had been in love in her since the two of them went to medical school together; he'd been immediately enthralled by her untamed beauty when still a mere teenage boy. She had been strong, since half of the male population (including some of the teachers) were fully against individuals of the opposite gender coming into such a school. But Diana Ladris hadn't given up, no; she'd been completely dedicated to finishing the damn school no matter what happened. Caine had admired her from the shadows as she told one of the rich males off, snapping: _"I have no interest jumping in the hay with such worthless pigs like you. And I tell you, if you're more interested in shagging me than learning something at this school then I'd be more then happy to tell you that you have no bloody future here." _But when the medical-science teacher had tried getting into her pants, the bubble had burst for Caine and the teacher had found himself thrown across the room and knocked unconsciousness by a furious Temple. Thereafter a very interesting relationship had formed between Diana Ladris and Caine Temple. Since Diana was married to Albert Hillsborough, the name she was most often addressed by was Diana Hillsborough, although she preferred anyone close to her – that wasn't Albert – to call her by her maiden name, or just Miss Ladris. The reason why was that she thought Hillsborough sounded like an old librarian name, but only a few were aware of this. Caine and Sam being two of them.

The game the two played was highly risky, and Sam couldn't believe the shame they would be exposed to if someone found out. "But then again... You haven't got caught until now," he admitted.

"Yes. Therefore you should know enough to stop your constant worrying. You know that Diana and I are fully aware of the consequences_ if_ we get caught," Caine said, leaving no room for conversation. Yes, Sam knew that Caine was remotely passive about where the secret lovers met up. "Besides. We're going out to dinner because I am her rightful doctor and can tell her what's wrong with her health over a nice restaurant visit. If somebody asks I didn't spend money on her, only on myself." Caine could tell lies without even blinking, his brother was fully aware of that.

Sam decided that now was a good time to end the topic. His brother obviously had gone through the details, and even though Sam wasn't supportive of the clandestine relationship, it didn't even cross his mind to betray Caine. He stared at the body for a minute before bending over with a pair of narrowed eyes. Ignoring the strong smell of burnt flesh (now quite close to him) that made his breakfast want to come up, he spoke: "The light-brown hair is not burnt, for some reason. Only the very front of her face." His eyes worked as a scanning machine over the corpse. He took a few echoing steps along the sideline, being careful with lifting up a sawed-off hand and studied the content under the nails. "When did you say the corpse came?"

"Two days ago," Caine informed in a monotone voice.

"Interesting. If she had been from a finer family, don't you think she would've been missed by now?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do you know anything about how long she has been dead?"

"The body is quite new, I assure you," Caine responded without a trace of emotion, making his brother wonder if you turned dead if you started working within medicine. The auburn-haired detective had yet to see a happy doctor that truly_ liked_ his work. He didn't seem like he took Sam's continuing questioning as an insult, even though he was obviously dissatisfied with the conversation's outcome. His brother had yet to reveal any hidden truths behind the body. "But she's not been dead for long. I'd say... Two to five days, perhaps? The number is unsure..."

"Excuse my interruption, but I need to ask; why did they call us up for this? I mean, there has only been one murder, so there isn't something big about this."

Caine was about to respond – because he had an answer, oh yes – when the sound of someone knocking was heard echoing though the small room. The doctor cursed through gritted teeth and hoped it wasn't that bloody police officer that had ran out throwing up because of the horrifying sight on the table.

The door was opened with a slow creaking noise, and a pair of blue-green eyes peeked in. The door opened completely – but the individual kept it from slamming open – revealing a young maid with blonde hair tied up in a tight knot. "Excuse me Dr. Temple," she slowly began in a hitch-pitched peeping voice, "But I was asked to bring you some tea." Who had asked wasn't stated but both Temples guessed it was from someone in the police apartment.

Having maids running around in the large police building wasn't a common practise, but it was well known that the head of the police apartment – what was his name again? Sam didn't care enough to remember – was quite the rich man and came from an even wealthier family, so he had enough financial support to have maids at his work too.

It was frowned upon by many lower-ranked police officers but no one dared to challenge his authority by setting a question mark with the special treatment.

In her hands rested a tea-tray containing two cups of steaming hot tea. She gave a smile when the doctor rewarded her with a pleased nod of approval and wandered gracefully over to the desk while the two males' gaze followed her intensely – though she didn't seem thrown off by this fact – and gently brushing off dirt with her left hand while she balanced the tray on her right. _'She could've been an acrobat in previous life,'_ the detective noted dully.

She set the tray down and preformed a polite curtsey, probably much practised, earning some esteem from the males for her respectful attitude towards them. Sam briefly wondered if it was possible to have such maids, the one at home wasn't particularly... Sam shook his head when thinking the maid's attempts at gaining his attention, due to the romantic feelings she harboured for him – she'd seen her opportunity when the relationship between him and Astrid started frizzling. He shook his head for a second time and successfully managed to draw his thoughts away from the past (and possible future, but he did not dwell over that too much) and instead switched his focus onto the cup, watching white curls of steam rise in a never-ending waltz. He had to admit, since he loved real beauty, that the sight was visually appealing and the strong scent of cinnamon and tiniest bit of ginger brushed against his face as he took a deep intake of the strong odour.

"Thank you," the doctor managed to call after the maid as she disappeared through the door. At least he kept on being polite while his brother was occupied with admiring the tea and his own thoughts.

He walked over to the desk in a peaceful stroll, choosing to taste this marvel of an Indian – the abroad smell was truly recognizable for someone wealthy – drink. He took a long sip while his brother gave him a calculating look, waiting for his opinion. "Well," Caine began with the standard word of opening a conversation. "I would've preferred something more bitterly in taste – like the black coffee you know I'm so fond off – I'll have to admit this is still a very good tea." A slightly dazed smile decorated his features.

Sam nodded seriously and took a step forward so he could reach the goodness himself, grabbing the cup with a firm hand before letting the smell grace his nostrils once more. Caine rolled his eyes. Sam ignored the 'God-You're-Stupid' gesture before taking it to his lips and gently letting the liquid roll around in his mouth before swallowing. The aroma was not bitter – just like the youngest Temple had stated – but a rather mellow sweetness erupted as a splendid aftertaste. The one who had made this tea sure knew how to balance the right ingredients in a correct order and calculate the right amount.

He nodded and returned to earth, finally swallowing his musings about his personal life the way he swallowed the hot drink. He unintentionally licked his lips. Luckily Caine didn't insist on proper manners and the smile grew to an amused grin when he noticed his brother's attention returning to the copper-haired doctor. "Oh brother of mine. You keep on spacing out, y'know that? Though let's return to the usual business – You asked me a question, if I remember correctly, right before we were so kindly interrupted by the tea," he gave a humourless chuckle. "About why the two of us were called in to this – or more precisely, why such a promising detective such as yourself has been enlisted. I don't want to repeat myself about this twice and you need to promise me that the information you are about to know will be strictly confiscated – no one else must get their hands on it, no matter _who_. If you do such however against all my warnings you will risk your job, ruin your good reputation and on the worst case end up in the bloody _gallows_."

The end word of the quietly-muttered sentence caused a shudder to go through Sam. He had seen one too many men hang there, with children of all ages gathered around and gazing at the hanging body in awe and mock amusement. It sickened him, how easy it was to get your life taken away if you did something that the government saw as wrong without listening to your opinion. In the end it only mattered if you were rich or poor, because if you were the latter there was a 80% chance you would go directly to your death without a court deciding if you were guilty or not. Sam loathed the fact that death was a penalty. It didn't make the judges any better then the accused.

The detective gave a small snarl before noticing. A few seconds passed. "I promise," he said in a polite way, his voice revealing none of the anger he felt towards the miserable government system.

The doctor ran a hand trough his copper-coloured hair and looked extremely frustrated. A thin drop of sweat ran down from his temple, and Sam didn't understand how this was the same guy who had bounced around in happiness less than a minute ago. The serious astrosphere got to him and Sam couldn't help himself as he laid a supportive hand on his twin's shoulder in a brotherly way, silently transferring some optimism onto the copper-haired doctor. "Hey, it's okay. Don't get so worked up about it. I'm sure I can handle the –" The assurance was never finished because Caine turned against him in a swift movement and cut him off mid-sentence.

"No, it isn't bloody okay," Caine hissed with an expression reminiscent of an extremely pissed-off snake. And pissed-off snakes aren't things you want to cross. There was a distractive pulsing line on his forehead that quivered as he spoke, capturing Sam's attention. "I don't know if you get this, older brother, but there is a killer on the loose which the police apartment thinks... thinks resembles..." He stopped and had to grit his teeth together harshly.

"Resembles who?" Sam asked while rolling his eyes at Caine's anger, which the other twin often did to him when he was angry. He took a sip of his tea and was about to suggest that Caine did the same or it'd turn cold when Caine took a deep breath and continued.

"They think he resembles Jack the Ripper. And that the famous murderer has returned."

...And Sam spat out his drink.

.

.

_Slash._

"Jesus Christ – please stop – it hurts so much –"

_Slash. _

"I'm begging you! You can have everything you want, my money, my house, my wife, everything –"

_Slash. _

"Oh, thank you, thank you, you're taking away the knife. I thought you were a reasonable gentleman and I'm never wro – Oh my God, is that a –"

_Slash._

"Plea-"

_Swish. _

The begging was never finished – or responded to, for that matter – as the victim's pulse was cut. Crimson erupted, staining the new corpse's clothes. _'It's like a small fountain,'_ the murderer thought gleefully. _'Except for spewing water it uses blood as liquid. Such a beautiful colour.' _The pondering successfully brought sick amusement to the man slipping on insanity. For there were no other explanations; someone who could do something this horrible must have lost his sanity long ago. Or rather, born without it, along with the empty conscience.

The sadist moaned and wiped blood off his hands, ignoring the fact that crimson had probably gotten all over his sand-blond hair too. It was such a messy job, but the pure sadistic joy the murderer experienced when doing this shit was simply _irreplaceable_. He removed the old coat, stretching his arms before eyeing the lifeless victim once more. He found it incredibly funny: the wide mouth and how the victim's eyes were staring directly at him without a trace of life. Even now, they were still begging him to be put out of their misery. The murderer threw his head back and laughed. It was a hitch-pitched, chilled sound that could make anyone turn and run for their life.

He then grinned to himself and changed from the blood-sprayed coat to a clean one, placing the silk hat on top of his head, grabbing the standard staff formed with a silver eagle head on top – just like his eye-colour – and wandering up from the basement. The stairs croaked underneath his feet but he ignored it with a raised eyebrow. Locking the door firmly behind him with heavy metallic chains, he smiled and walked through the long hall leading to the vestibule of the giant mansion his parents possessed.

Why did he kill? The sand-blond man didn't know. Didn't particularly care either, because it was so bloody fun and he had no interest in quitting. The police would soon find out about him, since he'd dumped the last body directly in the open and had no plans of hiding this corpse either. Because when the real police officers found out...

...then the _real_ fun would begin.

Drake Merwin started laughing again, even more insane and hitch-pitched than last time.

.

.

_"__The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes."_ -Sherlock Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles

.

.

To say that the weather was bad would be an understatement. Other adjectives that would be far more suitable included horrifying, gruesome, terrible, awful, shitty... The list went on. And to put it mildly: Sam despised bad weather.

Especially since he'd had to stay in the corpse-room with his damned twin-brother for several hours, going through every little detail several times. At the end they'd been sitting with as much information as they had obtained from the start. It certainly added much frustration to the situation, although Sam only showed this by deepening his standard frown. The fact that he almost slipped on every single ice-coated puddle that lay in the road didn't lighten his mood.

The frozen wind brushed against his face as a constant reminder that he had forgotten to arrange for a carriage to pick him up from the dreadful place. Wandering through London's deserted streets at three in the morning wasn't exactly his idea of a fun time, but the auburn-haired detective grit his teeth together and didn't complain.

'_Wasted time,'_ he thought, and remembered how Caine had dozed off towards the end, in the middle of a conversation featuring hardened blood. They'd spent the whole day (and parts of the night) pondering about the murder, and had even eaten there, the food brought to their room by the usual maid.

However, neither of the police officers or heads had paid them any visits; the story about the corpse that had scared both the regular specialist and the police officer away had wandered across the whole department, so no one wanted anything to do with the dreadful corpse, or even to venture near the place where it lay.

Not that Sam really blamed them. _'You never blame anyone, do you?'_ a little voice in his head interrupted. He grit his two rows of teeth together so harshly that you could actually hear a heart-wrenching noise – a high-pitched _shrrrriiiiink _sound – as he moved the rows past each other to block any vulgar noise from erupting from his lips. It was reminiscent of the noise that erupts when you drag your nails across a chalk-board, and Sam instantly stopped as it began hurting both his mouth and his ears. _'I do blame people!' _he mentally shouted back, though the retort was meek; he was fully aware of the statement's truth. Even if Caine ran after a married woman who could result in him losing his job and his good reputation, Sam still didn't blame him. Even if their mother had gone insane after their father's absence and become unable to act normally towards them when they were only fourteen, especially with Caine, the auburn-haired man still didn't blame her. Even if his wife Astrid Ellison had gone on extremely superstitious religious-meetings with her brother Pete, using loads and loads of _his_ money on this so-called 'Jesus-medicine' he still couldn't bring himself to blame her. But the trust, the damned trust, was broken.

The mix between granular snow and rain whipped his face mercilessly, and the detective helplessly put his hands in front of his face in a pathetic attempt to stop it. The action did successfully draw his thoughts away from the depressing subject, and he was silently thankful for just that.

"Hey mister!" a new voice called. Sam turned around only to be met by the sight of a petite lady, dressed in clothes far too large for her. Her eyes were playful but still slightly grim, even if a toothless smile danced on her face. The smell of cheap, over-used perfume hung in the air around her, the stench almost stagnant. It hit Sam almost immediately that she was a prostitute.

However, the auburn-haired detective didn't frown upon her or show any signs of disgust; instead he merely shook his head tiredly when she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "What's with the mister? Is he stressed? I can reduce it, y'know..." she trailed off and smirked up to him. Though he noticed some uneasiness in the smirk.

Sam didn't respond.

Again he glanced at her and pity over the soaked whore welled in on him. Her deep violet dress was filthy and riddled with holes, her hat's flower rotten and her hair dead and lifeless, having long since lost its shine and beauty. Such a shame that women like her fell like that. Also, the strong odour of alcohol hung around her – almost drowning out the perfume smell – like a constant reminder of what she worked as, or rather who she worked for.

Sam knew from former experiences when it came to the poor side of London that women that had taken this kind of _employment_ often had no choice in the matter, and were forced to sell their bodies because of lack of money and no education. Most had financial problems and took this sort of work because it seemed like an easy way out. But when you'd first done it, there was no way out, since you were 'deflowered' and no longer pure and innocent.

He shuddered at the memory of when he'd confronted a forty-year-old female about her choices in life, only to have gotten a quick, clipped response about how it was the only way to feed her six children after her husband had died in a boat-accident or something. Terrible stuff. But it had changed his views on prostitutes, nevertheless.

But this woman – no, girl; she couldn't be more then sixteen – seemed to take his violent shudder as a sign of disgust, not knowing that it was the man's own thoughts that caused him to react that way.

"Oh, the mister finds himself too nice to sleep with someone of my calibre? Well that's too bad, you ain't gonna get laid anytime soon with that attitude." She looked at him like he wasn't worth more than a rat's ass before taking a few steps back to disappear into the darkened corner where she'd been lurking previously. Sam couldn't help but recognise something close to hurt in her words; his actions had obviously done some damage, and with a quick motion he grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean anything like that." The detective wasn't holding her hand particularly tightly and knew the girl could easily twist herself out from his grip, but she stayed thoughtfully silent.

Her gaze was locked on his as he spoke, "I'm just not interested. Here," he pulled his money out from his pocket and gave her a few silver coins, illuminated mercurially by the light of a single lighting post nearby. "I haven't physically experienced how it is to live such a hard live, but believe me – at least I _know_ it's hard."

He smiled down at her, seeing as she was definitely quite a bit shorter than him when it came to height. "Please don't take my_ gift_ as pity. It's a gift for your constant struggle. Also, if you could remember, please don't ask me again; my wife gets quite... mad if she sees me with another person of the opposite gender, even if it's purely conversational."

She quickly regained her chilly façade of a personality with a stony mask and looked blankly at him, her eyes searching for some trace of a palpable lie. She found nothing; his exhausted smile and quiet way of speaking couldn't be false, because it just seemed too genuine.

Although she did see straight away that this was a very depressed person, one that kept to himself and didn't rely on others for any kind of support. _'How odd. He is a little like me then.'_ The prostitute smiled, and Sam thought she looked way more beautiful now, with the shy smile, than the flirting manner she had put up before to gain his attention.

"The mister is kind." She took the coins and weighed them in her small hands before transferring them into her pocket. "Perhaps too kind for this world. And this ain't forgotten, mister. I'll not disturb ya anymore. Name's Brittney by the way. Brittney Donegal." She wiped a few soaked hair strands away from her face during the new introduction, the toothless and sheepish grin returning to her features.

He responded with a slight smile, his standard reaction when something good happened to him. It wasn't often, so he was a little taken aback with the warmth that rose in his chest.

"I'll see you around, Miss. Donegal," he said in a polite way – as always – before giving her a small bow and turning to leave, moving towards the direction of his house.

'_What a strange girl,'_ he thought as the smile slid off his face again and the usual depression dragged at him.

.

.

The door shrieked like a banshee as he closed it. _'Bloody Hell, I need to fix that,'_ Sam decided, gritting his teeth together for the second time that hour. He cursed fluently under his breath – he always thought that when jumping as the door shut, but he never really did anything about it. He was a man. Men forget. He was unaware that almost every man thought about things they should have done but never actually did it.

Jesus. Sam had finally returned home to his own house and nothing more than negative emotions swirled inside his mind.

Lost in frustration, he didn't notice the onyx-haired maid that was standing only a few meters from him. "Mr. Temple?" she called, causing the auburn-haired man to jump again. She tried in vain to surpass a few giggles at his now flustered expression, resulting in him growing even redder.

"Good day – or rather, good night Mr. Temple, sir. You've been out for quite some time now – what's happened?" She questioned him in a sing-song voice, strolling towards him and invading his person bubble. Sam didn't comment on it even though he was highly uncomfortable with her being so close. With _anyone_ for that matter being so dreadfully close to him.

"I was just working on a new case. And I can take my jacket off by myself, Taylor." His voice came out in a softer tone then he'd intended it to. He cursed under his breath for being so exhausted, not able to say anything against it as she ignored him and helped take his thick winter-jacket off him. Sam automatically felt a little bad for being so rude to her, and muttered a quick apologize, blaming the lack of sleep.

"It's okay, you hard-working detective," Taylor purred sensually – even if Sam didn't manage to see it that way – and purposely brushed her body against his from behind. Sam froze, but good-intentionally took it as if she'd not done it on purpose (which she had – but Sam was too much of a goody-two-shoes mistake her 'good intentions'). "You're such a great man," she complimented him in that slow, provocative way of hers.

"Sam?" a feminine voice interrupted Taylor's obvious flirting attempts, coming from the upper floor. Astrid Ellison was standing in the middle of the large staircase, her pastel pink dress so big it seemed nearly impossible for her to walk down the stairs. Her honey-blonde hair was set up in the newest fashion (that she claimed to despise) and the pure and white dress coated in sparkling stones twinkled in the dim light from a paraffin lamp. "Sam? Is that you?" she started again, actually managing to hurry down the stairs without falling.

A change of expression entered the husband's face, almost exactly what happened each time he saw his wife. He wasn't thinking about the amazement of her management to not fall down the stairs, or her beauty, or how the latest fashion looked on her, but about _Astrid, _the person. Sam took a shaky breath before facing the inevitable confrontation.

"Where were you?" Astrid's voice was dead and threatening, making every person in the room well aware that she was going to strangle someone's neck if she didn't revive an answer within the next five seconds. Well, not exactly strangle with her bare hands, but strangling with words. It has the same choking impact if you're good enough.

"At work," came the immediate and true response, but Sam cursed himself directly afterwards since he knew his lovely wife would question his lack of details and description.

"Oh, really?" she began, sarcasm dripping like venom from her voice, and Sam automatically felt the poison interact with him, the lack of trust hitting him like a stone falling to the bottom of his stomach. She was like a bee, he concluded. A bee that wanted nothing more then to sting its poison within him because he'd stolen her most precious possession (or refused to give her it); the honey (well, the money, or rather, _his_ money) or just because he'd teased the bee about something (that matter should not be stated). It all fit so perfectly. "You know Sam, we are married. If you don't trust me about what you've done, how can I trust you?" Very much like a bee, oh yes, because she knew where it _stung_.

"The information is exclusively for very few people, Astrid. I can't let you know it, even if I wanted to. The police have denied me the right to speak about it." Everything, every little word was the truth. Even if someone found out that he'd told her the little he'd delivered now, he could risk prison for 'betraying his government' or some unbelievable crap like that. Sam sighed, the dark circles under his midnight-blue eyes indicating that he really needed to go to bed as soon as possible. But the female in front of him surely wasn't going to let him. "I've been working on this case for many hours Astrid. Please, can I go to bed so that we can discuss this tomorrow?" His voice was hoarse, his willingness to fight reduced to mere begging.

His wife snorted and crossed her arms, ignoring his meek request. Her blonde hair had fallen down from its fashionable coiffure, making her look like a vile little monster. Fire was almost billowing out of her nostrils, and her eyes burnt like those of a dragon as she stomped down the stairs and looked him directly into his eyes. "'Working for many hours', ha-ha. Don't you think I know that you go to such low-life... _whores_ because I can't satisfy the elements of your dirty imagination? Because I insist on following God's holy words and not partake in such pig-like positions?" She gave a prompt snort at the end of the sentence.

"Bloody Hell, Astrid!" Sam felt the exhaustion getting blocked out by the sheer rage he felt over her unjust statements, especially with the little Asian maid watching them with a disrespecting sneer on her face. "I was eighteen! I'd just returned from school on holiday and I was just mentioning it in passing. It was meant as a bloody _joke_, not something you should feel sad or ashamed about!" He'd shouted himself hoarse, and was breathing hard, desperate for more oxygen to enter his tortured lungs. He fell to his feet and struggled with the task, immediately causing Taylor to appear beside him and hitting him on the back repeatedly until his intake of air became normal again.

Astrid didn't move, even though her gaze became slightly worried with his struggle until she understood he'd managed to pull through, resulting in her features became harsh and unforgiving again. "Don't curse at me Sam Temple. And ashamed? You're the one who should've been ashamed for showing me those disgusting pictures your so-called friends, or rather, drinking-buddies had given you, you disgusting pig."

"It was many years ago, I was still a mere teenager, eigh_teen,_ not a grown adult. And you know I don't drink," Sam said, his voice breaking in the middle. His throat was sore; it felt like sand paper, and his lips were cracking with the lack of liquid.

"To say something is one thing, but to do it is something else," she stated. "Because I clearly remember seeing you with that prostitute just now!"

"What?" A frown decorated his shocked face before he remembered his encounter with the petite girl from earlier. "But... No, you've got it all wrong!" he cried desperately. His throat was damaged but he couldn't care less; she wouldn't believe that he'd done something with that girl – how could she? Bloody Hell, Brittany wasn't more then... sixteen, maybe even fifteen! She was way too young for Sam, and he wasn't even interested in sexual activity after all of Astrid's scolding, which were always about 'thinking of the devil's sinful temptations'. "I was merely talking to her!"

"Talking? I clearly saw you giving her money! You were probably just paying for the sinful things you've done with her, you animal!" she screamed before turning on her heel and stomping up to her own personal bedroom. The noise of a door getting slammed shut and afterwards locked echoed through the large main-hall of the Ellison Mansion. Sam was left standing alone, an expression full of sorrow, grief and wonder over how their relationship had rotted over the last years.

He stared blankly in front of him before sighing and returning to earth. "Taylor?" he whispered, to save his broken voice and to try hiding the sadness that was swelling inside of him. He mused a little over how he'd always called the maid by her first name, even though it was normal calling maids and the people that did house chores by their last name. Astrid had always disliked it and called it impolite, while Taylor had insisted upon him calling her that since 'she was almost like a part of the family'. The cunning look by her and the angry look from Astrid was something he'd never understand.

"Have you taken Pete to bed?" he asked, pondering about his wife's undeveloped little brother. There were nothing evil in Pete Ellison, but Sam knew that it was recommended sending people like him to a lunatic asylum. But just like with Caine; Sam would never do that even if Astrid, his wife, the person that was supposed to understand him, doubted this. But then again, she had never been too fond of Caine and the special relationship he shared with her husband.

"Yes Master Temple, he's sleeping like a child!" She smiled cutely at him. Even if Pete was a teenager, everyone in the Ellison household still referred to him as a kid. Mostly because of his child-like features, Sam guessed.

"Thank you, Taylor. I'll just... go to sleep now..." He trailed off before giving her a small nod in gratitude, trying to smile, although the grin slid off in a flash. He couldn't manage to fake happiness any more; the exhaustion smashed his abilities and want to do such a thing.

The staircase's steps creaked once he placed a foot on them, each one giving a long, whining sound. Sam knew the house he lived in – the Ellison's – was over one hundred years old and therefore it needed much fixing up to prevent everything from creaking, but the sad thing was that the fortune she'd inherited from her parents and grandparents had been used on that damned brother of hers. Sam felt the anger melt again; he knew that getting mad at her brother or her wasn't going to do any of them much good, especially as her brother Pete couldn't do anything about the subject, although Sam privately thought he was entitled to be a little bitter about it. Astrid had burnt away an extreme amount of money – that was for sure.

It didn't take long until he was up, not sparing Taylor a second glance before Sam stormed into his room and collapsed on the bed.

.

.

Diana and Caine were currently at Restaurant Le Entendement, one of London's most expensive placer which was reserved only for the finer kind of people. Since the two of them where both in this category – on the outside, at least – there weren't many problems coming in; it was making reservations that was the difficult part. Caine had waited for five weeks. He'd spent too much damn money on it as well; this was one of the few public places the couple could allow themselves to be seen in. They'd organised it so it looked like a big occasion, as if they hadn't seen each other in a long time since they were both so dreadfully busy. They had studied medicine together and formed a rare friendship, many were aware of this. What most didn't know was that Caine and Diana saw each other a tad more than what was expected, safely to say several times a week. And their relationship was a little more secretive than a pure, innocent friendship.

For obvious reasons, both wanted to get together without having to check on each other's incriminating words and actions all the time. Of course, they had to do it a little here too since Restaurant Le Entendement was filled with people of all ages, some of them women who was dying to let out a new rumour.

On entering, there was no mystery about the why such a large amount of money had been spent, or rather, Caine had spent, because everything from the maroon-coloured tablecloth to the soup-spoons made out of silver were of the finest quality around, most imported from other countries. Caine had requested their table to be a little hidden without giving his true reason, but not enough for people to becoming suspicious. They were just friends, after all, sitting at a table discussing old memories from their time as youths. It was certainly not a date.

The doctor stabbed the knife through the expensive lamb meat, afterwards bringing his fork out to pick up the piece of steak and putting into his mouth. He chewed slowly, using every inch of his mouth to taste it. Just by looking at his facial expression and smirk it was easy to guess which of the famous Temple brothers he was.

"Must you be so primitive, Caine?" Diana asked with a sigh, though the question had a slight undertone of teasing. She was infamous for her beautiful appearance and didn't fail to live up to her reputation; her hair in the newest fashion and makeup not overly-done but still enough to cause women to turn their heads in jealousy and men in something completely different. She was like a siren; tricking sea-men into throwing themselves into the ocean as part of a desperate attempt to get closer to her. Dangerous to men, yet they just couldn't get enough of her.

The copper-haired doctor who sat at the other side of the table was one of those men. He tilted his head to the side and smirked over his own musings; he had fallen into her grip but she had fallen into his too. "Oh Miss. Ladris," Caine referred to her in the standard title with her genuine last name, but keeping it quiet to avoid suspicion. "Y'know I like my meat extra bloody." He licked his lips.

She shook her head with a smirk that matched his. "You're such a psycho sometimes."

"I beg you pardon, but I don't think psychopathic is the correct term to describe my... Abnormal qualities. Sociopathic would be more fitting." Lack of skill on the intellectual or medical area was not something that occurred with the doctor.

Unlike most other women, Diana didn't feel the last bit of bothered to be corrected by her wording. Instead she chose to pet his already gigantic ego. "Is there a difference? If so, would you please tell me what kind of difference?"

Diana knew the answer. She'd studied medicine along with him, but after the marriage to Albert Hillsborough (which had not been her intention in life at all, simply a wish by her parents to unite the two families and since he had a lot of money) he traditionally had expected her to be a good housewife. Women's only purpose in life was to stay at home, order the staff around, talk shit about others by picking up rumours at boring parties and function as an English baby machine – this wasn't the word Albert had used, but the meaning shone through clearly. And the babies had yet to come, luckily, at least in Diana's opinion. Also her most important task in her entire life was to please her husband, who was apparently God's gift to women.

Caine hummed a little before answering, clearly pleased that 'he knew something she didn't'. Caine wasn't stupid, just a little... Dumb, sometimes. Or perhaps he just trusted her completely. Diana didn't know. "You see, a sociopath is a term for mentally ill people who lack a sense of right and wrong, or rather, right and wrong in the majority of other people's views – which have been taught by others again." He twined the beef-knife between his thin fingers. "A sociopath lacks a conscience, to wrap it up nicely. A psychopath, on the other hand..."

The knife glinted like mercury in the light provided by the crystal lamp which could've been made of silver diamonds. S0mething alien glimmered like a brown fire in Caine's hazel eyes, resembling burnt umber and showing an emotion Diana saw very rarely in his normal façade full of fake charm and hidden but still noticeable mischief – insanity.

The knife jammed down, into the steak, into the very bone. Caine grinned and twisted the knife 360°C, tearing into the warm flesh.

Diana watched with no fear at all but instead utter fascination and curiosity. Caine Soren was truly a mystery sometimes, one which she longed to solve.

Caine looked back up, the fire completely gone. The standard 'calm&calculated expression™' roamed again on his smug face. "A psychopath," he began in a monotonous voice, although a secretive smirk still played on his lips, "Is a person with an abnormal lack of empathy towards another being, allowing them to do things in cold blood. Of course, a sociopath does the exact same but let's just say that... Sociopaths have more dignity and know what we're doing." Caine gave a pleased smirk.

Suddenly the two of them were interrupted by a loud clapping. The secret pair turned around, two pair of eyebrows raised in curiosity.

The sight of Penny met them, her pig-like eyes narrowed and rose-red lipstick-smeared lips formed into a malevolent smile. "Well well well – if it isn't Caine Soren and the damned little... Oh pardon me, you're married now – Hillsborough's prude little witch." The smile turned mocking as the overly-decorated female continued with her acidulous comments. "I find it hard to believe that you were discussing medical things with the volume the words flew." She blew Caine a kiss and revived a barely-restrained look of disgust (politeness only) in response.

Her petite husband stood beside her, shaking like the sad little failure of a man he was. "D-Dear, please d-don't offend Mrs. Hillsborough," Cimex stammered. He looked like he wanted to disappear into thin air to save himself of the constant plague which his wife's attitude was, much like a chameleon of some sort.

The stiff upper lip the English were so known for danced on Penny's ugly mug. "I'm not offending anybody," she hissed without even looking at Cimex. Diana knew he was one of those men where the wives ruled completely over his whole life and that Cimex probably had no idea what his own opinions and likings were anymore.

"As a matter of fact," Caine began, hazel eyes ice-cold, "Calling somebody a witch counts as an insult. I would've preferred it if you could keep those comments to yourself. We are simply enjoying a dinner as friends, since we went to medical school together. Now if you would please excuse us, we were in the middle of speaking about theories of the human mind." Somehow Caine managed to appear threatening, like an evil overlord from the old story books, even if his tone was reserved and polite. He then gave Cimex a little wink, reviving a gulp in response.

There were no secret that Penny had always looked twice at the handsome, young, rich and unmarried doctor. He had no other family than his happily – or so everybody thought – married detective brother Sam Temple so that meant no irritating mothers-in-law. Hell, Caine even had a giant house! The perfect man for a woman who loved money. Sadly, Penny was already married with the locomotive-owner Cimex Anderson, so that option for a better life was unreachable. Didn't mean she couldn't _try _though.

And Caine wasn't neither innocent nor unintelligent, so he easily understood those longing gazes she sent after him weren't just admiration but something close to primitive _want_ as well.

"Oh, pardon me for wondering why the two of you are hiding in the most expensive restaurant in London – a restaurant where only the fewest of people can enter." Penny gave quite the bitchy hairflip.

"We're only friends," Diana said calmly, though there was an undertone of well-restrained rage in her voice. "Can't two old school friends of the opposite sex have a quiet conversation on the medical area, or is that too much for you to bear?" She spoke quickly, outsmarting Penny with her words.

"No. Not at all," Penny hissed before turning on the heel. "Let's go Cimex. Obviously the secret little couple don't want us sneaking up in their little romance."

"But my dear-"

She was already five meters away. Cimex turned to Caine and Diana apologetically. "I'm truly sorry about my wife's attitude towards the two of you. It's been a rough day" – just like any other day – "and she's taking it out on others. Again, I'm truly sorry." The sorrow and guilt seemed to be real, but you never knew with the petite, bug-like man. Caine saw him as an unimportant insect.

Cimex gave a polite bow and followed his wife out. Her whining could still be heard by Diana.

"She's suspecting something."

"Of course she is," Diana replied with a good amount of that standard sarcasm in her voice. "Penny is a rumour-loving house wife that wants to get into your pants. Of _course_ she's suspecting something when you have a female friend that isn't your wife." She shook her head and lifted the glass of expensive Indian wine. "It's always like that."

He took his own glass, and as they clinked, Caine tilted his head to the side and said something remotely memorable. "But that doesn't mean we're going to stop, does it?"

She took a sip from her wine. "Of course not."

.

.

The clock hadn't even passed five when Sam woke to a distant giggling. He noticed how his body had become warm because of the obvious thick layer of clothes, his cheeks burning from the heat. He moaned and groggily cleared his throat, yet to be aware of his surroundings, before the giggling began again. He snapped out of the sleepy trance and his eyes opened in a second, only to be met by a very lightly dressed maid staring smugly at him.

"Taylor?" he said, his voice still hoarse from the lack of water, making him cough again. Although this time Taylor rushed towards him and sat down on his bed where he lay sprawled out, helping him into a sitting position. He had stopped his coughing by then, but she smirked at him like she was waiting for something. "W-What are you doing here?" Sam asked in a whisper, horror dashing over his face once he noticed that she was only dressed in her underwear. The usual attire hung on a chair nearby, right beside the fireplace.

"Isn't it obvious?" With a swift motion, Taylor had shoved him into a lying position again and now lay over him, gazing at him like a flesh-starved wolf. She leant down, pressing her body against his with the dominant smirk still on her face. She smelled of alcohol, he noticed. Just like the prostitute he'd met earlier, but this smell came from her mouth, not her clothes. "I want you Sammy-boy," she crooned, her hands already moving towards the buckle of his belt.

Sam's eyes widened with the action and he desperately tried to move her off. He managed to swing to the side, resulting with her falling off. Taylor only growled. "So Sammy-boy likes to play dirty? Well well, didn't know you liked to get all warm first." Her hands moved up under his shirt and she gasped in a fake manner. "But oh, you naughty little... You're already all hot and bothered. Were you thinking about me even before I came to your bed?" Those giggles he'd woken off erupted from her lipstick-painted lips, before she smirked up at him while her skilled hands played with his chest-hair almost lovingly. "I bet you thought about all those dirty-dirty things you men really wanna do... But your wives won't allow ya. Poor Sammy-boy..."

Sam managed to return to his senses. He could almost smell the passion mixed with the alcohol for the maid whose hands was now sensually caressing his chest as if she'd done it with him hundreds of times before. "No!" he almost shrieked, falling out of bed in the process. He'd been loud enough to wake up Astrid if his voice hadn't been so low because of the hoarseness. "D-Don't..." he murmured.

The maid stared with disbelief at him before scowling angrily at him. "What is it Sam? Too frightened for sex since Ellison scared the lust out of ya?"

Sam was disgusted with her words – whether they held the truth or not – and crawled backwards to get further away from the little monster. Taylor noticed and her eyes narrowed almost into slits as she crawled away from the bed, glaring daggers at him for daring to reject her. "I'm so much better then that bloody whore," she said in a dangerous undertone, jumping up from the bed and right on top of Sam. The auburn-haired detective's eyes widened and he quickly twisted his body away from hers, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket that lay tossed over the floor.

He breathed hard once he reached the door, grabbing the doorknob firmly. He gazed at the dazzled form on the floor, the female clearly still taken aback from his rejection. Sam was just not interested in a romantic relationship, but she took it as if she wasn't good enough.

"If I'm not good enough, and Astrid Ellison's not good enough, then who is Sam?" she asked, and perhaps she wasn't so crushed after all. More like insanely furious. "No one wants you except me Sam. You'll die old and alone, because you didn't say yes to me when I offered myself. Everybody knows you and Ellison's relationship will burst!" she screamed, pointing with an accusing finger at him. "You'll come crying back to me Sam Temple, mark my words!"

Sam ran through the door, trying to block out the terrible words that were thrown upon him like cold water. Doubt formed in his entire being now, and he had to swallow some pathetic sob noise before it shamed him by seeing today's light.

He hurried down the stairs, ignoring the creaking sounds.

"Sam?" Astrid's frustrated shout came from upstairs and he stopped in the middle of the staircase without turning around. "What's the meaning of this?"

"A-Astrid," he stammered. "I-I... coming here was a b-bad idea. I... I'll just go," his voice broke for a second time that day when he spoke to her, and he hurried down the rest of the stairs and grabbed his jacket and large boots. He spared her one final glance, filled with so much sorrow that even Astrid had to look away, before disappearing into the darkness of the night.

He left his wife standing on top of the stairs in sheer confusion.

Her eyes were narrowed as she glared at the door he'd slammed shut, giving it such a look as if that alone would bring back Sam if she scowled hard enough.

Sadly this was only wishful thinking and she soon gave up, turned around, and was met by the sight of the black-haired maid that stood and tried to get rid of her smug look and replace it with a façade of sorrow.

Astrid's rage suddenly got directed at Taylor. "What did you do to my husband?" She put force on the last word, uttering as if it was a threat for the other woman if she gave the wrong answer.

Taylor had managed to pull of the innocent-sheep look, blinking at Astrid like she didn't understand what the other woman meant. "Nothing... I just wandered into his room to tell him that Little Pete had been put to bed as requested, and I think your dear husband had fallen asleep and was having a nightmare. He started screaming at me when I quietly approached him." She lied easily, without blinking. If Sam was there he'd wondered if she'd taken private lessons from his twin-brother.

Astrid shook her head and didn't see through the lies or the façade, sighing and giving Taylor an exhausted look. "Of course, that explains it." And with that, she really showed where exactly her trust lied. Not with her husband, certainly.

.

_I know that I was lost_  
><em>And I know that it was too too hard<em>  
><em>And although it isn't much<em>  
><em>I give you all I have.<em>

_There's a mirror in the old place_  
><em>A place where we would stand<em>  
>"<em>And wonder at our sweet sweet selves<em>  
><em>Smiling hand in hand<em>  
><em>This wasn't what we planned.<em>

_Though the night has fallen_  
><em>I close my eyes and imagine<em>  
><em>A tiny glimmer flickering on the horizon.<em>

_It takes time to get it right_  
><em>Takes no time to get it wrong.<em>  
><em>I can't believe I didn't see<em>  
><em>The ground was caving in<em>

_Oh, can we just start again?_

_Everyday, everyday_  
><em>Living my life like it's over<em>  
><em>Like it's over and deep underground.<em>

_Little look, little smile_  
><em>Flick the switch and it's over<em>  
><em>Like it's lost and can never be found.<em>

_But maybe there's a tiny glow_  
><em>That won't die and won't leave us. A lone<em>  
><em>Star shining. The sun is rising.<em>

_There's a tiny glimmer flickering on the horizon._  
><em>Can you see it? Can you see it there?<em>  
><em>Can you see it? Can you see it there's<em>  
><em>A tiny glimmer flickering on the horizon."<em>

Aqualung - Glimmer

.

Water splashed to Sam's sides as his fanatic footsteps made a slight echo in the darkest of nights. If someone was with him in the dark they'd possibly have mistaken him for an insomniac. He'd only managed to sleep a few hours, and so the tiredness made his world spin a little, especially with the speed he was running at. He stopped, leaning down with his palms pressed to his knees.

He wasn't too far away from the Ellison Mansion, but didn't feel like he could go back. It wasn't even his house, or at least he'd never felt it was, since it originally had belonged to the Ellison family and had been a gift from Astrid's rich grandfather when they got married. Sam had moved out from the Temple's mansion which he had shared with the doctor when they were studying; Caine in medicine and Sam in martial arts.

The reason he had married Astrid was out of love, no denying that. But love... What was love really? A strong connection that bound people together would be the logical answer. Sam knew he had loved Astrid. But the vulnerable love they'd clung to was easily broken; and it had took a long time to get it right, and no time to get it wrong. Besides... That love didn't exist anymore, even if he tried to sadly convince himself that it was still there.

He breathed hard, the support from leaning on his knees not enough and he collapsed in a puddle. Hail hit him in the face like a barrage of tiny bullets, and he shut his eyes tightly, taking another deep breath before trying in vain to stand up.

All out of the sudden, the detective felt a small but strong arm help him up, slinging his arm over the unknown person's shoulder for support. Sam looked up, trying to make out the stranger's face.

His sight was disturbingly blurry. All he could make out was the shape of the head, but not the facial expression.

Even if his body was in good physical shape – probably thanks to the martial arts training – but since he hadn't slept more than three hours in the last forty-eight hours, the lack of sleep came dawning upon him and he passed out on the stranger's shoulders.

.

.

Midnight-blue eyes opened slowly, blinking a few times in ultimate confusion. Sam brought his hands up to his face to rub sleep out his eyes, before they widened when he looked around. He was in a small kitchen slash bedroom slash living room of some sort, clearly not belonging to a rich person. He also lay on a small bed, just big enough to fit him, with a warm, multi-coloured blanket covering his whole body.

"Oh, so the mister's awake, eh?" came the good-natured and slightly smug voice of a female. Sam turned around and looked at her.

"You're that girl from yesterday..." he said slowly. His voice was hoarse, and at the end of the sentence he fell into a loud coughing fit because of the strain he was putting on his already raw throat.

Brittney tilted her head to the side, seemingly fascinated by the sight before her. Then she shrugged, satisfied with her inspection. She didn't even bother to deny the shock that had risen within her heart when he told her he remembered the prostitute. An even clearer sign that he wasn't an old pig who just wanted to shove his-

"Ya passed out right by my door yesterday. Couldn't fail to notice your footsteps – I thought you were a thief or somethin'." Brittney shrugged lightly, stopping her wandering thoughts; she didn't want to get to close to this man. _'Men,'_ she thought, in a way that suggested the word was a derogatory term, though the only visible sign of her contempt was the slight snort that had escaped her. _'They're all the same. Stinking pigs. But maybe, just maybe, this one... Isn't so bad after all...'_

Sam leaned against the wooden wall behind him. The smell of cheap perfume hung in the air, and as a detective he noticed that the atmosphere was gloomy but strong, if that made any sense, just like the woman – or rather, girl, before him. "Oh," he said quietly. "Thank you. I was... I was... Not well yesterday," he lied with the standard discomfort written all over his face, coming from the fact that he'd relied on another being.

Brittney shook her head, "Don't mention it." She headed for the kitchen, which was just a few steps away. It was a kitchen, bedroom and everything in one. "And just so ya know," she called as she started rummaging in some cabinets that hung above her head. "That money you gave me yesterday was used for somethin' better than just bloody drugs an' such nonsense." To prove her point, she turned around with a teapot glinting from the light provided by a dirty and cheap version of a paraffin lamp standing in the corner.

Pride shone on her entire face even if she still tried to keep up the emotionless façade. Brittney wanted to show him that she wasn't one of 'them'.

Sam understood and nodded.

"I'll make you some tea," she decided and began to search for some clean cups.

He gazed at her, but she didn't seem the slightest bit disturbed under the pressure of his questionable gaze. He let it slide across the room, taking in his surroundings. For a room belonging to someone of her, um, _work_, she certainly hadn't cut corners when it came to cleaning. Everything was in a fair condition, even if the large dishes that were lying in a heap in the sink would cause a slightly more house-proud person than Sam to frown. The walls were made of wood and the floor of stone, although it was covered with various carpets in different colours. There was one paraffin lamp, and the rest of the light-providers were regular yellow candles. Several minutes passed as he took in his surroundings. The whole room had that melancholy feel, he finally concluded.

"Here," she said to regain his attention, holding a small tea-set out in front of him. Everything was new, he noticed, and the cups and teapots had blue stripes all across them. He didn't know he gave her that much money, but then again, the poor always knew where to get stuff, illegal or not. Sam didn't think she'd stolen it, but rather guessed she'd bought the equipment from people whose ways of finding their stuff wasn't entirely on the right side of the law.

He rose into a sitting position and noticed with wide eyes that he was naked. He stared up at her with horror, but merely got a shrug and a short laugh hidden as a cough in response. She wasn't mocking him in all his naked glory, but merely finding his silliness funny. "Don't worry. It's nothing I haven't seen before." With the horrified look he sent her, she quickly added, "I had to get you out from those wet clothes. You were soaked in cold water and I guessed you didn't want to catch a cold."

Sam gulped and turned red, but took the teacup from her and muttered a hurried "Thank you" before taking a long slurp. He couldn't help but purr a little, like a pleased cat, when the warm tea entered his stomach. It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling inside and a genuine smile lit up his features.

Brittney noticed and admitted to herself that he was quite charming when smiling like that. "I'll go get you some clothes," she said softly. Then a hand shot out of nowhere, grabbing her shoulder and forcing her down on the bed beside him.

Her mind instantly thought of _that _and she was about to slap him. Before she could, she noticed the look in his midnight-blue eyes; they were like pools of sadness. She stopped her hand from interacting with his face, so that it was hovering in mid-air. "Please don't go," he said quietly but quickly. "I... I don't want you to go." His voice was sore with need for human contact. Brittney had heard the tone in his voice before, long ago... Completely abnormal for her usual stoic façade, she reached out and hugged him.

Sam felt odd; human contact or hugging wasn't something he experienced often – or willingly, for that matter. The sole exception was that of his brother, but that didn't really count. Purely on instinct, he buried his head in the corner of her shoulder, taking in the smell of cheap perfume.

Then it left his mouth. Not at once, of course, but the words flew like an endless stream, different emotions flickering like a glimmer of fire in each sentence, and what he truly felt shone through like light through glass. Brittney stayed still, as she listened to the one thing that constantly plagued his mind; the dead body, his doctor-brother (Sam didn't mention the affair with Diana Ladris though), and the new killer. She stared up at him with fear when he mentioned that Jack the Ripper had possibly returned. Also, even if it wasn't directly, she still got the impression about what his wife had done to him and her eyes narrowed each time he mentioned Astrid. Brittney looked ready to murder when he told her about Taylor.

Sam sucked in a breath. Then realisation dawned upon him, and he violently let go of Brittney, covering his face with his hands. "Oh god!" he almost shouted. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't meant to share that, I mean, I'm so..." He continued to rant over his own stupid actions. The exhaustion mixed in with his blurry sight had really messed up for the worst this time.

"Calm down." A hand was placed under his jaw, forcing his head upwards so their eyes met. "I won't tell. I know you won't trust me with this, but I won't tell. So... To make it up..." She closed her eyes tightly shut, before taking a shaky breath. "...I'll tell you my secret."

It was her time now, sentence after sentence leaving her mouth. Her breath was ragged, almost panting, and the information she shared with him was what she never had shared with anyone. Not just the happenings, but her opinions and feelings on the topics too.

Brittney had been young. Oh so young, perhaps only twelve when it happened. She came from a well-respected but poor family that kept itself going by sending all the members of the family to work. Her mother baked and sewed for everyone, plus working at a factory that produced clothes nearby; her father was a poor fisherman, and even her brother had work as a pipe cleaner when he wasn't helping their father on the boat. Brittney had been the only one that didn't work, instead going to school and taking all the religious courses that her family sent her on. Their biggest dream was for her to be married to a priest, seeing as the Donegal family was very religious.

But then the reality came crashing down on them. Because of an accidental mistake on Mrs Donegal's part: leaving the flat iron on as she went to check if her son was sleeping.

Brittney took a deep breath as her eyes met Sam's, who stared up at her with sorrow. "...A fire started," she continued grimly.

She told him how it left herself as only survivor, because she'd been at church that day. She'd praised the lord for her life and she told him that she still knew God had chosen her for living instead of dying that day, even if the meaning or reason had yet to be revealed. She'd gone to the church and held a funeral with the little money she still had, even though the bodies were reduced to ashes. Then, when she had no money to pay for the courses... They threw her out.

"It was only logical," Brittney began, not managing to keep the sarcasm from lying like thick poisonous liquid within her voice. "Because it costs _so_ bloody much for having a twelve-year-old girl coming to church now and then because God is the only one she has left in this world." She was obviously still bitter over it. "So I had to take work. I wanted money. I was stupid, I know, choosing this line of work since I thought it was easy to get money out of old pigs that wanted young-girl-meat," she sighed. "And now it's too late. I'm dirty, un-flowered, whatever the hell ya wanna call it. Even if I still believe in God, of course the churches 'round here doesn't want anything to do with me."

Sam stared at her. She could be lying, he knew. But something... Something about the purity in her voice made him trust her.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Brittney replied. "And... The tea is getting cold..." Well, it was cold, and it wasn't exactly surprising either. Sam had drunk up the content of his cup, so his conscience wasn't bad. "Ah, hell, forget 'bout it. But... I just wanna say thanks. I've never shared anything of that with anyone, and I don't usually do it... But it was something about your eyes when you spoke, the way they glinted…. it reminded me of my little brother's..." For the first time in her seventeen years of life, Brittney blushed. "Please forgive me, it's stupid. But," Sam dryly noticed she used that word a lot, "y'know, now you're aware that I won't tell anyone about the murders, or your idiotic wife, if you don't tell anyone about my life."

Sam grabbed her hand formally. "I promise," he whispered.

They both sat in silence for a while.

"And... if it's not too much... Could I please get my clothes back?" Brittney had to hide her laugh behind a cough again and went to revive them. It didn't take long before she threw them at his head, excusing herself by walking out and into another room. He quickly changed, slipping into the clothes that luckily weren't wet anymore. He jumped out of the bed and found out that he had to bend his head slightly so as not to smack it against the low ceiling.

"You know..." the prostitute began in her usual way, leaning against the door she'd disappeared out of less than a minute ago. Sam wondered how long she'd been standing there and, um, how much she'd seen. "...I think I know someone who can help you with the case."

Sam blinked at her. Twice. Finally he swallowed the facts she delivered and waited patiently for her to continue.

She turned to him, eyes slightly narrowed. "His name is Howard. I don't know his last name, but everyone around here just calls him Howard. He's... He's like the person who keeps track of everybody. He is a drug-dealer, sort of, but makes everybody else do his dirty work for him. But, if you think the person you found yesterday were poor, he will know exactly who it was."

Sam nodded slowly. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Thank you for your help. I will contact him later."

Brittney smiled. "No need. You won't know where to find him, so if you want, you can visit my place tonight. He doesn't come here for the regular," she spoke plainly about her business, making Sam slightly uncomfortable. "But if I tell him who I sleep with he gets blackmail material, and gives me money for it. It's a cruel world, y'know. Howard will be here. I promise." She winked at him, but unlike Taylor there wasn't anything remotely sensual about the action.

The smile on the detective's face widened. He made his way over to the door. "I'll see you again, Brittney. Tonight, around five or six, am I correct?"

"Sure. In eleven hours right?" The casual but slightly humorous tone wasn't to be missed.

"Eleven hours? What's the time now?"

"Six in the morning."

Horror dashed across his face and he sighed, knowing he couldn't go home. He decided to go to work early; he doubted his brother would mind. "I'll see you." Then he disappeared out the door and into the cold streets of London.

Sam moaned and stretched his arms as he entered the police office. The warmth the walls provided were amazing on his skin, and he hung up his hat and his rust-coloured greatcoat as he passed a hat stand in the large hall. He tried to remember the way to the room where they held the dead body, nicknamed the 'corpse-room' by his twin-brother. In front of him was a broad staircase leading up to the second floor, but he knew that was a direction where he didn't want to go.

"Um," he asked the bored receptionist, who obviously thought she had better things to do with her life that sit on a chair through the night. "Could you tell me the way to where Doctor Caine Temple works?" Sam asked quietly. He revived the directions in return, and muttered a small thanks to the grumpy female.

It took a long time before he found the right door; the silver numbers '113' shone playfully down at him. Without knocking – as always – he opened the door with a sour expression – the lack of sleep transferred to his mood, and since he almost never slept he was always in a bad mood – only to be met with a sight that made him want to bang his head repeatedly into a wall.

It wasn't hard to see what the two people were doing. Diana Ladris sat on a desk, Caine hovering over her with his hands running up under her massive violet-coloured skirt. She smirked as he kissed her even more harshly on the lips, and the female Ladris responded by tangling her skilled hands in his messy copper-coloured hair.

Two pair of eyes had been turned against the disturber as Sam stood there in all his awkward glory.

"I'll... just come back later," Sam said quickly, before he took a step backwards and slammed the door shut. He leaned against the nearby wall. 'Caine's gonna kill me Caine's gonna kill me Caine's gonna-' He was going to replay his thoughts again when he heard a roar of laughter clearly coming from his deranged brother.

.

.

Caine hit Sam playfully on the back. "Maybe you'll learn to knock this time?" he suggested calmly, joining Diana in with the snickering. After Sam had managed to swallow his shame, all three of them had decided to walk into the room again. It would've been awkward if Sam had stood outside and someone demanded to know why he wasn't even nearing that room. It would've been even more awkward if the person asking why had happened to step into the room.

"Maybe you'll learn to not shag Ladris in the place where _we _work?" he hissed at his brother, before sending a look at Diana. "Sorry Ladris. It wasn't meant as criticism directed at you."

"None taken," Diana said with a casual shrug. Between Sam and Diana, the relationship had always been a little awkward, though they'd learned to live with it in the end. Now they treated each other politely, as if they weren't friends but strangers who each knew too much about the other.

"What, I don't get an apology?" Caine fake-gasped.

Sam gave him a deadpanned look. "No."

Caine held his chest as if he'd been shot. "Oh brother dear, you wound my heart!" He then proceeded to put up a sulky expression for a while.

Sam ignored him. "So why where you two here anyway?"

Diana answered before Caine could say something utterly stupid and cause them both to look like fools. "Well, Cainey here decided that this place were closest and dragged me along since he was getting a little randy-"

The auburn-haired man put a hand up, cutting her off. "Please, I don't want to hear it." He revived a shrug again in answer. Sam sighed and was about to tell them how irresponsible it was to come here, but decided against it since he'd nagged Caine at least a thousand times before, and it had yet to have any effect on the man.

"Caine, can I talk to you afterwards?" Sam asked.

"Why can't you do it now?" The childish doctor revived a pointed look at his lover in response. "Oh come on, Diana already knows about the murders." Diana didn't even seem to notice his words, too busy studying her nails.

"What?" Sam blurted out, eyes widening. His gaze swung from his brother to the female rapidly and he clearly had problems swallowing the information clearly. "You bloody told her?" A vein was getting visible in his temple, and his eyebrows curved down into a deep and dangerous scowl.

Diana must've noticed because she looked up from her nails.

"Well what could I say, there was a bloody corpse lying here," Caine replied slyly. He didn't bother to hide the mocking tune and he clearly derided Sam's reasons for getting so mad at him. "Besides, Diana won't tell. Will you honey?"

"Of course not. You have my word."

"I don't bloody trust-" His mouth harshly clamped together, trying to reduce his rage. "This is a dangerous slip, Caine. If the information leeks out they'll have your head for this." A strange sort of emotion ruled his voice, sadness accompanied by bitter acceptance. Caine didn't like it. Not one bit.

The sulking expression was gone now, and the tension lay like thick gas in the air. Invisible, but yet you could definitely feel it. His expression matched Sam's in anger, though the rage Caine bore was more of an ice-cold heart-wrenching one. "I thought I told you not to doubt my intelligence yesterday, Sam. I know what I'm doing. If I end up in the gallows for telling the woman I _trust_," somehow he knew that his twin-brother would react badly to this, and was proved right when Sam's scowl darkened, "completely, with all my aching heart, that is my choice. You stopped being the over-protective big brother type the moment we passed fourteen Sam."

"I am not being over-protective. I just don't want my brother to bloody _die_." Putting emphasis on the word did not cause Caine to reconsider his statements. "Is that so bloody unreasonable?" The cursing kept on continuing showing how vulgar Sam got when he was angry.

"Yes. Yes it is and besides, you should hear yourself: it's as if you think I'm nothing but a three-year-old who can't take care of himself! Which is far from true."

"Oh? Well who had to take care of both of us when our mother started losing it?"

There. He'd stepped over the invisible line. The shock of betrayal shone on Caine's face.

Midnight-blue eyes widened. "Caine," he winced, "I didn't mean it like-"

"Save it," Caine cut him off, hurt evident in his voice. He was quiet, and for that all the more dangerous. He moved closer to Sam with slow steps, as if to draw out each of the seconds to make his twin-brother as humble and as little as possible. "I told you specifically not to mention _that_, did I not?" Sam could feel his warm breath on his face now and took a step backwards until he hit the wall. Caine followed, never breaking the staring contest.

"I was fourteen," he defended himself, "I was fourteen fucking years old, and had to deal with my mother calling me an abnormality in her family, threatening me daily to send me to an orphanage since she knew I wasn't her son. Do you know how that feels like, Sammy?" he hissed. "Do you know how it feels like to be despised by your own mother?"

Diana held her breath.

"No," Sam said quietly. "I don't."

"Right." The copper-haired man planted a finger on his chest. "So don't speak about things you have no idea about."

The oldest Temple twin swallowed thickly. "Yes." He felt like he was being scolded by an unforgiving father.

Caine ran a hand through his thick hair and turned on his heel, taking a tour around in the room to calm his temper. He slammed a fist into the wall. "Okay, now that that's over with," he said with fake happiness, "We should get to work –"

Sam looked at him. He'd always found it strange, how his brother had managed to lock all his real emotions inside his heart and not allow anyone to help him, let alone see them. It was his method of survival, Sam realised. Caine had almost never relied on others when they were children, and he'd certainly never done it after their mother had gone insane. Sam sometimes felt bad since he hadn't been there for his brother, not stood up to his mother and told her straight to the face that she was treating Caine like shit and deserved to be punished for it. No, he'd just watched as Caine was tortured mentally with all her poisonous words.

He took a deep breath. But it lay in the past, and the past could not be changed. Sam closed his eyes tightly and the regular kind of calm, calculating ones opened. "Yeah, let's go to work." He strolled over to his brother and laid a hand on his shoulder. It was slightly awkward, because you could almost feel how scared Sam was for physical contact. Nevertheless, Caine smirked slightly, and went to inspect the corpse lying under the regular blanket. The air had been changed – the door had probably been opened during the night – so the smell of gore and blood had disappeared.

Diana tried to ignore the brother brawl, and jumped off the desk she'd been sitting on. "Detective Temple," she called politely. Both respected each other. Because Sam liked Diana, and was fairly certain Diana held the same emotions for him. Not in a romantic way, he left that to his twin, but as in he liked her sly attitude. She matched Caine perfectly. Which meant she could keep him occupied from bothering Sam.

"Yes?" Sam answered, turning to her.

"Not to dig into your personal life but... Why did you come here so early?" Perhaps she was trying to steer the topic over to other things.

Sam's mouth went dry. "There were some disturbances at home." It felt like a bloody desert.

"Did that creepy Asian maid try to molest you again?" Caine hummed.

Sam's teeth hit each other with a _clink_. Just to wipe that smug grin of his brother's face, he bit back with a sour, "Yes, actually." This caused Caine to look surprised, and that wasn't often.

"Seriously?"

Sam turned tomato red and looked away. "Can we please not talk about my personal life?"

"When are you going to learn?" Caine shook his head and tch-ed, a slight smirk on his face. "I told you before to stop being such a softie. If she tries again, tell her to bugger off or I'll bloody fire her for you, since you're too much of a weakling to do it yourself. Alright?"

Sam was about to retort with something about not being nice enough when Diana interrupted them. The female leant over the body, not even slightly disgusted by the horrendous sight. "I know where her clothes are from," Diana said.

That caused both men's attention to swing back to her again. "Oh?" Even Caine looked distinctly surprised. He'd doubted her intelligence.

"The Talented Talents – yeah I know, _very _creative, but the woman who owns the store's last name is Talent – produces clothes of abroad origin. The multi-coloured style of the fabric," she showed Sam because Caine had as much clue on fashion as a damn cow, "is very rare, and I have yet to see another shop in England that produces such clothes." She traced the fabric with her finger, just above the blood-stained (which was now hardened) dress the girl wore. Sam agreed with her; the fabric was very strange. Even if the dress were now dark red you could see some of the fabric were the blood hadn't soiled it. The original colour had been of a striped black, maroon and white design.

Sam blinked. "Do you know the first name of the lady?"

Diana shook her head in answer. After the sigh that escaped past his lips, she added. "But I know enough for you to find out who it is. You see, even if I've only been there one time, I haven't forgotten the only woman who worked there. Listen well Sam; she's around thirty, has black skin, black hair and is pretty masculine with a few extra pounds, if you know what I mean." The information was delivered without raising an eyebrow.

Even when Sam took up a small note pad to write it down, her gaze never tore away from his face. Diana Ladris was a pretty intense person. Again Sam was reminded why she fit Caine so well. "Last name is Talent, around thirty, black skin, silent attitude, masculine... Is that everything?"

"Yes. And don't forget the name of the shop."

"Mhm."

Caine – who had been moping in the corner during the entire conversation since he wasn't the centre of attention anymore – gave Sam a pointed look. "You won't find out where she is. London is big, and there's not many who willingly help 'rich people' like us."

"I have contacts," Sam said simply.

"Oh? What did you really do last night Sammy?"

Sam sighed and gave a very quick and simplified summary of his doings that night. He failed to mention the whole conversation with Brittney or the information she had given him about her personal life, but that he was going to meet a lad named Howard was clear.

"Well certainly," Caine said after a short silence, "you don't waste time, do ya?"

For one of the first times that morning, Sam allowed himself a small smirk.

.

.

Fucking Hell.

Drake looked ready to murder. Well, he had murdered the night before, but still – if around the corner came a single lonely person he would probably end up slashing the unfortunate's throat. He would willingly tear open the throat, drag out the insides and cover himself in the gore just to get some stimulation out of the –

Okay. He needed to breathe. Deeply in, keep the oxygen there for a second, and then breathe out... So, that was better. He just needed to calm the fuck down. Completely.

But he was in deep shit, so it wasn't easy to appear or be calm. Especially not when the corpse he'd dragged with him had disappeared out of the bag he'd carried it in. The clock read around eight in the morning when he'd left, but now he couldn't be sure. The man's body was both larger and heavier than Drake, but he still needed to hide it somewhere. Any minute now, someone would come and find him here, and it would be easy to see who had done it; Drake was upper class and was loitering in the slums, with no legal business. "I'd be dead," he muttered to himself and chuckled darkly at the stupid joke.

He spat at the dead man in the face. "Lucky bastard. You don't need to feel, do ya? Don't need to watch that fucking façade we all put up to make people like us. Honestly I don't give a rat's arse about what people think of me, but it's important that I'm well liked or I'll end up killed." He took a deep breath, and when he breathed out again, smoke came out of his nostrils because of the cold air. _'As if I'm a dragon,'_ he thought, amused by his strange name. _'Burning my victims to death... But hey, I already do that!"_ He laughed.

Then he got forced himself back to reality with the sight of the dead body beneath his legs. "Ah fuck, I still have you, don't I?" He sighed and grabbed the man's foot, dragging him across the ground. It left a trace of crimson in the pristine white snow. He then used all his remaining strength to throw the body over the fence on Putney Bridge.

.

.

**A/N: **Perhaps one day when I'm bored I'll continue on this.

OK, before continuing this fic I shall give credit to the things/people that inspired me:

• BCC's series _Murder Rooms: The Dark Beginning Of Sherlock Holmes_ who features Sherlock Holmes' **real** author Arthur Conan Doyle, and what and who SH is based on.

• All the old and new Sherlock Holmes movies + books.

• Wikipedia: About everything from old torturing devices to mental asylums from the old days. Thanks to the internet encyclopaedia! This would've not been half as good if I hadn't had you to rely on.

• Special thanks to Grace for feeding me some information about her native country (though I'm still fairly certain you're Cuban since you despise tea).


	6. Case 413: The Artist

**Disclaimer: **This girl owning Gone™? You gotta be shitting me.

**Rating: **PG15 – now I'm making shit up.

**Warning:** Drake Merwin, a warning in himself. Not read if you're squeamish about murder, blood, character death etc.

**Beta:** JokerGrace YOU'RE MORE AMAZING THAN CARDGAMES ON MOTORCYCLES! ...Oh yeah, I went there.

**Type: **Oneshot, perhaps twoshot.**  
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**Genre: **Psychological horror, crime

**Pairing:** None.

**Summary: **AUish FutureFic. "Whoever suggested that Drake Merwin was just a poor, misunderstood adult with a some small mental issues that kind psychologists would manage to fix needs to get their head checked." No pairings. Rated T for Merwin himself.

**Words: **3'971

**A/N:** Written a few weeks back. Vaguely inspired by _Joker's Asylum: A serious house on serious earth_. Also a metaphor there was inspired from a Paulo Coelho psychological book called _Veronika Decides To Die_, and another metaphor was shamelessly stolen from the manga Bleach™. Parts of it, anyway.

Set in distant future, after the FAYZ or something, though there are no direct mentioning of the subject, only that Drake is an adult and hasn't revived death penalty because he is labelled as a true psychopath.

.

**Case 413:**

**The Artist**

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"_Do not touch the glass. Do not approach the glass. You pass him nothing but soft paper - no pencils or pens. No staples or paperclips in his paper. Use the sliding food carrier, no exceptions. If he attempts to pass you anything, do not accept it. Do you understand me?"_ -Dr. Frederick Chilton, Silence of the Lambs

.

.

**[**_**Click**_**, sound of a recorder being put on, followed by an old chain's **_**whine**_** as someone leans back in it]**

_"Had a good day, Mr. Merwin?" _

**[The voice is soothing, calm, but very restrained – the fake happiness is evident. It's obviously the psychologist speaking] **

_"That depends of what your views on the word 'good' is, Doc. I bet the day is quite nice for you, but for me strapped in a straightjacket and tied to a chair it's not very comfortable." _

**[Patient speaking – the human is of the male sex, and can't be younger then around eighteen – he's very bitter, you can tell by the voice]**

_"I assure you that you have my deepest apology for the restrains. But we needed to make sure that you wouldn't try any more of your, ah, attempts at escaping." _  
><em>"Of course, of course, you doctors always hide behind nice language when what you really want is to grab my collar, put the other part around my throat and <em>squeeze_ until my eyes roll up in my head and I die from lack of oxygen. Is that not true, Doc?" _

_"No, Mr. Merwin, that is not true. But we are here to talk about you today, not me." _

**[Sarcastic snarl in response]**

_"Oh, I feel so honoured that anyone wants to discuss anything at all with the mentally unstable Drake Merwin. He lacks sanity, y'know."_

_"Nonsense, Mr. Merwin. Here at Govermort Asylum we like to believe that no one is insane but just simply... misunderstood. With a little help from our doctors, you should be able to go back to living a normal adult's life." _

_"Normal? Don't make me laugh."_

_"I wasn't intending to, Mr. Merwin." _

**[A chuckle followed by another small **_**creak **_**from the chair; the psychologist is leaning back as if tired]**

_"No, of course not. You don't intend on doing anything, do you, Doc?"_

**[A frustrated sigh. It is unclear as to which of the two it came from.]**

_"I would like it if we could get back onto the topic that –" _

**[The woman is cut off, but you can't tell if the patient is interrupting him on purpose or not]**

_"It's so boring in here, Doc. The white walls, the medicine you doctors force down my throat and the tons and tons of shots which are supposed to tone my temper down; it's all so _boring_. The fucking boredom is eating me alive..." _

_"Language, Mr. Merwin." _

_"...and so do the white walls that surround me. I ain't allowed to go anywhere anymore except t0 my little white room with that little white bed. And there's nothing sharp I can take to hurt myself with – or preferably _others_. I remember before my little accident... You know Doc, with Mr. Moore? You remember – Oh I'm sorry; you knew him didn't you?" _

_"Yes. He was a good friend and a fellow co-worker that gave his life trying to help people that are mentally unhealthy. People such as yourself." _

**[The "Mr. Merwin" was forgotten this time; certainly not on purpose because the doctor is angry now, however he hides it well because he knows that the patient in front of him will do anything to get under his skin] **

_"You say that insanity doesn't exist, but you also called me mentally unhealthy just now. Isn't that the very same thing Doc?"_

**[No response whatsoever to that particular question]**

_"I would like to discuss your past, just like last time."_

_"They say that your past creates you."_

_"And?" _

_"I find that to be a load of bullshit, and whoever thought that quote up must've been a fucking brain-damaged cow with nothing better to do."_

_"Now, Mr. Merwin, there isn't anything to be ashamed off." _

_"I'm not ashamed at all. My past is easy; I'm sure you've read it in my files. Like I've told you previously, I grew up with a rich family – how else do you think I could be placed here instead of in jail? – where my father was a well-respected policeman – so ironic, I know – and my mother was a kind woman with a heart of gold. So how is it that the son can turn out to be such a monster?" _

**[A loud click of the tongue indicates that the patient is irritated, followed by a cold chuckle]**

_"Do you consider yourself a monster, Mr. Merwin?" _

**[A pause]**

_"No. No, no, I do not see myself as a monster. I am just not normal in _your_ eyes."_

_"Then what is normal for you, Mr. Merwin?" _

_"Tch, normal. Such an overrated word. Let me give you an example... if I asked you what that piece of cloth hanging around your neck is, what would you answer?"_

_"This? It's a tie, of course." _

_"Yes, of course, of course. But what is the purpose of this tie; can you explain that to me? ...No? Well, to a person who has never seen a tie before and can't guess at its function, they would automatically answer that it's a useless piece of cloth in a gaudy colour that's attached to your neck. Then, the person would be labelled insane because of their unusual, or rather, abnormal answer. So a person is labelled insane when he doesn't do as what the majority of people thinks is right."_

_"So you think your actions against those innocent people were justified, Mr. Merwin?" _

**[Sighing] **

_"You clearly don't understand. I think killing... is plain art. But the majority – the _normal_ people – think against it, and therefore I'm a freak; an outcast of society. I've said before that I don't see myself as insane. Other people do." _

_"You have quite a low opinion of humanity, I see." _

_"Yeah, I do."_

_"But you're human yourself."_

_"Yes, I am. But now let's stop talking about me, shall we? My life and opinions are just as boring as those white walls, are they not? What about Mr. Moore, hmm? Let's discuss him. Nice ol' fellow. But he got too boring, too _plain _for my taste so I did what first came to mind... I slashed his throat."_

**[Laughter echoes through the room; the patient finds the topic amusing]**

_"I apologize about the use of the needles, Mr. Merwin, but it is highly necessary if you intend to damage –"_

_"_Kill_." _

_"-or_ _kill anybody. Including yourself. And as previously stated, we are not here to discuss your former actions. We are here to discuss you. If you just kept to simple, one-word answers, it would be fine." _

_"Oh, so my opinions doesn't matter. Very well then –"_

_"Just answer my questions, Mr. Merwin."_

**[Second pause] **

_"Okay."_

**[Remorse, bitterness, silent rage; the patient doesn't even bother to hide it]**

_"Firstly, I'd like to continue on from where we left off. You're in such a talkative mood, but I'm afraid we can't have your thoughts wandering too much. Therefore I'll be questioning you with yes-or-no answers or questions where I'll only expect one or two words in response. Do you understand?" _

_"Yes."_

**[Anger roams in the single word; the patient doesn't like to be cut off]**

_"Good. Firstly: Do you hate your parents?"_

_"No."_

_"Can you name a few emotions you feel towards them?"_

_"Pure indifference."_

_"Oh? So you claim to have no positive feelings toward the people that brought you up?" _

_"No." _

_"Mr. Merwin, this is a serious claim. You state that you feel nothing, an emotionless connection with the people that brought you up in a loving family? Absolutely nothing?"_

_"Yes."_

_"When you were brought up, did they ever do anything abnormal –"_

_"Ab~nor~mal?" _

**[The word is shouted in a questionable manner in a particularly hitch-pitched tone; the patient is certainly mocking the psychologist, and the room is filled with tension]**

_"...What the majority of people considers abnormal. It says here that you haven't had much contact with your family except for your parents, and that you are an only child. Did your mother or father or anyone in your family do anything that you or other people considered strange?"_

_"Are you suggesting that my mother or father sexually assaulted me?"_

**[Disgust]**

_"Not at all, Mr. Merwin. Those are your own words."_

_"...Fuck no."_

_"Refrain from using vulgar language please, Mr. Merwin. And I take your answer as a no. Then let's go on to the next question, or rather, request. Name the emotion you think your parents felt for you before you moved here and after." _

**[His voice is low, almost murmuring, but still completely possible to pick up. The psychologist speaks as if the patient has a choice – simply because he's instructed to do so]**

_"Love. Then embarrassment."_

_"So you think your parents don't love you anymore Mr. Merwin?" _

_"...Allowance to answer properly this time, Doc?"_

_"You have my allowance, as long as you refrain from going away from the current topic." _

_"No, they still love me. But it's purely parent-love. A mother loves her son even though he directs a gun to her temple and shoots – Not that I've ever done such a thing; I'm not that fucked up in the head – and an innocent father still loves his daughter if she says that he was the one that pushed his wife down the stairs – even if he gets mad at her afterwards. Life is funny that way..."_

**[The sound of an object dropping onto the psychologist's desk – perhaps a pen – accompanied by the patient's sniggering] **

_"...isn't it? No need to look so shocked, Doc, I'm merely pondering out loud, not moving away from the topic; I thought it would be easier using metaphors, you see. Ah, there you go, regaining that stone-faced little façade of yours. You're so great at that. But regardless of your act, let me continue. You asked me if I don't think my parents love me anymore. I answered that with that they do still love me, I am certain. They love _me,_ but not what I do. They do not love my art, sadly enough." _

_"That's why they locked me up inside of this mental asylum as an excuse for their embarrassment, so if anyone asks they can simply answer, "Oh, our son was born with mental problems but is now receiving help from the fine doctors at a well-respected mental hospital. Poor little mentally unstable Drake, who can't do shit because he isn't in his right mind." Not completely what they said, but what they meant. Embarrassment is choking the love out of the kind little married couple Merwin, so why not send the problem away? It's all about the façade y'know. Yeah, you should know so much about that subject since you always put up that little façade of strength each time I mention something remotely disturbing. There, I answered both of your little riddles, did I not?"_

**[Stunned silence from the psychologist, although the patient's tone is as calm as ever] **

_"Everybody seems to be thinking that I'm lacking sanity. That I'm _insane_." _

**[Last word is spat like dirt]**

_"Nah, far from it. I'm just... too sane, perhaps? Fully aware of my doings. I don't see a tie, Doc, because it's just a useless piece of red fabric and I'm not frightened to admit it, because I'm not frightened to be labelled as insane in the majority's eyes. I honestly do not see the point in that wretched fabric. You don't wear it because you see the importance of it, but because you have been taught to and because society expects you to."_

**[Hitch-pitched laughter, with no other adjective left to describe it 0ther than utterly, heart-wrenching **_**insane**_**]**

_"You're like horses, all of you, where other horses' opinions are your kings. A horse has been leaned to do what is expected of it – to not throw off its king. However that doesn't mean that it won't. And if the horse is fully aware of this and becomes too sane for the other horses' liking, they throw him in a fucking cage. Because it's not allowed when the horse raises itself off of the dirt, throws his king down and becomes king himself. I have to admit, I like the idea of being king."_

**[Scribbling on paper from the psychologist's direction, but there are no other disturbances]**

_"It was my friend who taught me this. Well – not friend exactly; we saw each other more like allies, because oh boy how we despised each other. But anyway, I'm sure you've heard the name Caine Soren before, hmm? Rich bastard managed to escape from jail 'cos he suffers from mental instability and is fully aware of it. So little, kind Caine Soren received help from the psychologists and is now fixed for the better! Saw that bullshit on television. He's such a good actor, I'll give him that. Anyway, he was the one that introduced me to this king theory of his, regardless of my opinion on the matter. I see now in afterthought that the sociopathic fucker wasn't as stupid as I first had thought. Sly bastard, just like a fucking snake – Ah, sorry Doc, I forgot our little rule about my potty mouth. My humble apologies."_

**[A coughing noise to attract attention and to signalize that it's the psychologist's turn to speak]**

_"Mr. Merwin. You stated that you have got no friends. Answer this properly without any of the metaphors or riddles this time – why is this?"_

_"No riddles or metaphors? Tch, you're so boring- OK OK, I don't mean to be threatening! There, move your damned hand off that button that brings in the nurses who look like men. I swear, one of 'em even has a moustache. A black moustache. Uck ...Yeah yeah, back to the topic. You asked me that question, and here's the answer. Ya see doc, I don't need friends. I don't need supportive comrades that just drag you lower down in the dirt that you already are. That fucking bond between friends causes them to do shitty stuff to save each other's asses even if the one friend drags the other down to Hell with him. It's all so dreadfully dumb. If you stay alone, you don't need to have such emotions towards another person, another horse, and therefore you drop the chances of getting betrayed."_

_"Are you scared of being betrayed, Mr. Merwin?"_

_"Perhaps. I want to live and I can't live properly with the thought that someone is going to stick a dagger in my back every second. I wanna live. But sadly enough that's not gonna happen now that I'm locked up in this mad-house. With the white walls. And shots. And manly nurses. Oh yeah, fuck my life."_

_"That's not an optimistic view of life Mr. Merwin."_

_"Nah. It isn't. But you can hardly blame me, can ya? Anyone who'd been locked up with serial killers, rapists and psychopaths for a damn year would naturally turn a little negative. Or insane, whatever."_

**[Snorting. More scribbling on paper]**

_"Very well, Mr. Merwin. You have talked more than ever during this particular session. Is there perhaps a reason you want to share today?"_

_"Seems like your temper has cooled down a bit after my, um, mention of Mr. Moore. You seem more cold and stone-faced now. Good. It's easier, um, having a proper conversation with someone who doesn't look like they wanna murder me."_

_"The question, Mr. Merwin."_

_"Ah yes, I'm sorry. I got off track again didn't I? Regardless of my current new habit, there's nothing in particular that I want to say to you. Hell, I don't want to be here in the first place. But that piece of information wasn't really needed, seeing as the restrains keeping me from escaping kinda speak for themselves, do they not?" _

_"You talk in riddles again, Mr. Merwin. I specially asked you to not do that again. You are simply walking around the questions and hide behind metaphors and misleading riddles because you _fear _the answer, or rather, that anyone should get their hands on the answers. Because under all the big words, you're just a child looking for attention."_

**[Provoking words, calmly muttered but with a deadly meaning] **

_"I DON'T FEAR." _

**[The patient is screaming – the psychologist went over the invisible line]**

_"Do not yell, Mr. Merwin or I'll have to call the authorities to get something calming for your nerves. Take deep breaths – just like that, breathe in and out, in and out."_

_"St-stop messing with m-my head..."_

_"Mr. Merwin, don't hurt yourself! Yes that's right, let go of your wrists."_

_"D-Doc... p-please..."_

**[Chair falls backwards, hitting the marble floor with a **_**dunk. **_**Frantic footsteps hurrying over to the patient's whereabouts] **

_"Calm down, I'm here Mr. Merwin, shh, it's gonna be okay, that's right, breathe –" _

**[Sentence cut off with a horrific scream] **

_"Okay, Doc?"_

**[The scream that followed didn't belong to the patient]**

_"Nah, it's far from okay. I told you that you were too boring, Doc, and you know what happened to Mr. Moore when he got too boring... _He died_." _

_"M-Merw-"_

_"Shh, Doc, it's a fatal wound. I aimed at the pulse-line, y'know, and by the looks of it you're losing too much blood to be saved again._

**[Choking noises] **

_"B-Bastard."_

_"Now that isn't very nice of you – what was your real name again? – Ooh, Miss. Yare. No, not nice at all. Even if you keep on complaining about _my _potty mouth, you're even dirtier yourself. Tch tch, Doctor – it's ironic, isn't it?"_

" _Oh wow – red really is my colour, isn't it? Better than the hideous white that usually surrounds us."_

**[Something heavy hitting the wall]**

_"Eh, sorry doc. You should really lose some pounds; you were crushing me to death! Though that is far too late now."_

**[Dark chuckling]**

_"Well well – look at this! You managed to spill crimson all over my orange suit! How neat. I always thought that orange and red compliments each other, y'know. Do you think they match, Doc? No answer. How rude. Ah, you're turning blue!" _

_"Damn these fucking restrains. Though I managed to get out of the chair, my hands are still bound... Lucky that the girl who bound me was too busy admiring my beauty and obvious intelligence to notice that she hadn't tied the fucking chain properly. Sad, how females act more on emotion than anything else. ...But look where that got _you_."_

_"You see, Doc... You don't understand me... at all, actually. With your fake smiles and fake attitude, it's all so plain and boring – just like the white walls. I think killing is art. I never told you that, but I'm a true artist, you see. Not anyone could've done _this _so fluidly like I did; shoving a small object through your neck and watching contentedly as you bleed to death. So beautiful, but also..."_

**[Noises from the corner have stilled] **

_"Boring. Everything about you is boring, isn't it, Miss. Yare? Even your own death fucking stinks; you didn't even beg for mercy or any of that other shit. It's always fun when they beg. Oh well. You don't care; you're dead anyway."_

**[Footsteps in the room, nearing the recorder]**

_"Now lookie here... What is this? A recorder. Oh my,I didn't realise this conversation was recorded. I've become quite famous, haven't I? Well, dear listeners – I hope I was a fun host."_

**[Hitch-pitched laughter fills the room once again. New voices then interrupt] **

_"Miss. Yare, is everything all – OH MY GOD." _

_"Ah. Hello, Harry Thunder."_

_"What is it Harry, is there something wrong? Oh holy –"_

_"Hello to you too, Sarah... Nice to meet you again." _

_"Merwin... You... FUCKING BASTARD." _

**[The laughter rises until it peaks to an unreachable height – no man should be able to laugh like that]**

_"GRAB THE FUCKER!" _

_"There is no need for –"_

_"QUICK, RESTRAIN HIM!"_

_"Mngh –"_

_"That's right, you piece of shit, sleep. Wait... Why is there a red light? Is this thing still recording?"_

_"Don't –"_

**[**_**Click**_**. End of tape.]**

.

.

"_I am going to show you why we insist on such precautions. On the evening of July 8th, 1981, he_ _complained of chest pains and was taken to the dispensary. His mouthpiece and restraints were removed for an EKG. When the nurse leaned over him, he did this to her_. [pulls out photo]_ The doctors managed to reset her jaw more or less. Saved one of her eyes. His pulse never got above 85, even when he ate her tongue."_ -Dr. Frederick Chilton, Silence of the Lambs

.

.

The police officer ran a hand through his thick, black hair before he came to one conclusion: "This guy is a sick son of a bitch." He chewed on his lip once every stare was directed at him, some with mild hints of sardonic humour, other with disgust at his statement and some with light annoyance.

"I would refrain from speaking in such a derogatory manner about our patients, Mr. Carevall." It was the head of Govermort Asylum, who spoke in a low voice with the annoyance deeply hidden behind a façade of strength and indifference, just like patient 413 had said in the interview they all had listened to a few seconds before the black-haired police officer's statement. "They are still humans, even if poor examples. That is why we try to help them – not judge them for their lack of certain standard emotions, but to simply guide them back to a normal life."

Those were the same words the now murdered psychiatrist had spoken, but no one dared to mention that. "Miss. Yare was a prime example of goodness towards someone who suffers from mental illness. She gave her life to that cause, just as Mr. Moore did."

"Well that Merwin didn't exactly seem like he was suffering," the black-haired police officer began, but was cut off by a deeper and darker voice coming from the corner of the room.

"I would be glad if you kept your theories to yourself, Abigail. This is a serious matter and not something to joke around about." The police commissioner snorted at his men's childish attitude and muttered a quick apology to the head of Govermort.

Abigail flushed – which was quite an unusual trait for men of fifty – and took a step backwards, like a dog who knew he'd done something wrong. "Yes boss."

"Good. Now I want a full report of what happened. Mina, if you would please...?"

"Certainly, Mr. Garrison. The corpse was found at 14:27 after the guards had heard a commotion coming from one of the psychologist and patient session rooms. They found the psychopath Drake Merwin stained in the corpse's blood, not even brothering to hide the fact that he had slaughtered the woman – his own psychologist – and... laughing hysterically. They managed to put him down with sleeping pills and quickly called an ambulance, but it was far too late. Drake Merwin had somehow managed to get a hold of a pen – which we are guessing is Miss. Yare's – and punctured it directly through her main pulse vein... thirty-six times. Very... fluid work, if I can use such a word. She died because of the obvious reasons, lack of air and blood loss." Mina gave her boss a short nod, something that resulted in her glasses slipping off her nose and falling to the floor.

An uncomfortable silence roamed the room.

"And of course," the female Mina began again, wiping blood off her glasses. "He's not going to jail or reviving the death penalty for the gruesome doings, no; he's labeled as a psychopath and therefore can't get murdered because of American law."

The head of the police office gazed upon the four people in the room with frustration on his features. "Perhaps there was some truth in that conclusion of yours, Abigail. Whoever suggested that Drake Merwin was just a poor, misunderstood adult with some small mental issues that kind psychologists would manage to fix needs to get their head checked."

.

.

**A/N:**Reason this is named case 413 is 'cos I want to "do an interview" with Caine as well, some day in a distant future... Case 414 ;-)


	7. No

**Disclaimer: **Gone™ belongs to Michael Grant.

**Rating: **M

**Warning:** DARK; character death(s) and a lot of blood. Also use of bad language.

**Beta: **None.

**Type: **Poetry drabble, perhaps?**  
><strong>

**Genre: **Horror, tragedy.

**Pairing:** Complicated, very sadistic Dram.

**Summary:** Screaming, who is screaming? Screaming, is he screaming?

**Words: **517

**A/N: **Written because of the Utøya massacre. Rest in peace all those who died. Couldn't find a better title for this, I think the simple but powerful word fits this fic perfectly. First posted 07.25.11.

Kinda poetic.

.

.

**No**

.

_"The tragedy is not that love doesn't last. The tragedy is the love that lasts."_ -Shirley Hazzard

.

.

Someone is crying.

Thereafter the same someone is sobbing.

Quiet.

The situation needs no words, harbours no verbal expression; it is just gruesome enough at its very own. The very sight, the very view.

Tense fingers. Pale, thin, almost spider-like. Stretches out. Touches.

Fragile skin. Pale skin – even paler than his own. Like a corpse.

No heartbeat. No pulse. No signs of life.

No.

The realizion – no, it cannot be, it just _cannot_ – dawns upon him, yet he cannot do anything else but stare lifelessly in front of himself, mica-coloured eyes wide and empty.

Dead.

Those thin fingers is brought up to his own face, grasping it, clawing himself.

"Is he dead?"

He knows the answer. Yet he questioned.

Hesitance.

The copper-haired individual in front of him takes a step backwards. No remorse. Shock. And wariness. Caine had never seen someone rip the throat out of a person they are supposed to _love, _and frankly, it scares him.

"Yes."

No.

"_Yes."_

No. NonononoNONONO-

Screaming, who is screaming?

Screaming, is he screaming?

Hate.

Anger.

Despair.

Pain.

Twisted. Into. His. Heart.

Like a dagger. Made out of glass. Because when it hits the heart, it shatters, and all the bits and pieces are left, constant reminders. Of...

Blood.

The crimson isn't as sweet as it would have been.

"Merwin, are you-?"

Dead? Insane? Helpless?

Crying?

All he hears is crying.

Is he the one that has been crying? Is he the one that is crying now?

He breathes in the scent of blood and despair, silver eyes twinkling as if enchanted by a dark curse.

Blood – smeared all across his face, his clothes, his hair, his fucking mouth_ get it off me get it off me GET IT THE FUCK OFF ME- _

Screaming. Vile, terrified, tormented screaming, as if someone had stuck burning steel trough his heart and venomously twisted it around just to hear it even more.

It hurts so much. It hurts so incredibly much that he claws his heart, his face, his very own skin just to get underneath it and rip it off so he could find the source of his pain underneath-

He clutches the dead teenager's body in his arms, shaking it back and forth.

"_You cannot be dead! You cannot be DEAD! YOU FUCKING HEAR ME SAM?" _

Hears... screaming. Or is he sobbing again?

Smells... death. Death all around him.

He's... helpless.

Is he... insane?

He stares at the auburn-haired corpse beneath his feet.

Pain. Oh so much pain.

"_When you're alive, I'm tormenting you. When you're dead, I'm dancing in your blood." _

He had muttered those words to **him**.

And now he _is _drenched with **his **blood.

Is he dancing?

No.

Is he crying?

Maybe.

He takes another step...

And the chains of humanity lessens – vanishes, into nothing.

And the glass daggers' pieces increases, swallowing up the remains of his heart.

And the inner beast stirred within him; ready for release.

And he lets it go and cries and screams and sobs and tears and slaughters and laughs-

He left his last bit of humanity and remains of his scattered heart with the blood-drenched auburn-haired corpse at the ground.


	8. Vilipending Butterflies

**Disclaimer: **Gone™ doesn't belong to me.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings:** References to the sexual nature and Drake has a potty mouth. Slash. Includes gay people, obviously. Don't like don't read. Homophobes go die.

**Beta: **None.

**Type: **Drabble.**  
><strong>

**Genre:** Angst. I think.

**Pairing:** Caike.

**Summary:** He was tangled deeper into this mess than he liked to imagine. A terrifying grin stretched across the cunning snake's face, "No Merwin, fuck you."

**Words: **838**  
><strong>

**A/N: **Quick non-planned oneshot that appeared out of nowhere like a wild Pokémon. CATCH IT ASH. What happens when you give Atchair a PC five in the morning.

During HUNGER or something. I dunno.

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**Vilipend****ing Butterflies**

.

"_So I've been sleeping with the silence in my mind_

_And all I see scares me_

_And no one knows it, but she, she saved me" _

Lydia - Hospital

.

.

Gradually, falling for him.

"I don't want to," the mercuric-eyed boy replied, tone blasé.

"Did I ever take into consideration what you wanted or not?" was the firm yet slightly fragile response, as a butterfly flying in the quiet middle of a tornado. Surrounded by nothing more than twisting walls of destruction. Yet no paranoia was evident in the voice, thin and brittle as transparent glass.

"Touché."

He was pale as a corpse in the florescent moonlight from the sun hidden beneath a half-broken plastic Venetian bind, appearing almost ghost-like. Inflicted by fatal illness? No. Not yet, not entirely.

Thin lips are drawn across the milky skin, tasting the salty almost non-existent flavour.

"You came."

"Not yet," Caine replied with bad humour, chuckling darkly, taking amusement for the recent lack of dialogue between them and tried to break the silence with a lame joke. The times he has visited are unnumbered, but it somehow bothered the sand-blond to talk about it.

"Shut up. I meant here. To this room. Again. You stated that you would never return here again."

"And you believed me?" An amused glance, a wet tongue flickered out like as if the copper-haired teen was a Cobra; imaginary venom dripping of poisonous chalk-white fangs. Something oddly predatory-like fell over him.

"Maybe I fucking hoped," Drake answered cockily, dagger-shaped teeth glinting deviously in the fake light streaming from the half-open window, allowing cold night air to fill the petite bedchamber. Even lying underneath the current top, he somehow managed to appear to have the upper hand in the uncommon situation.

"Maybe you did..." Teeth touched the skin in unhesitant circles, running over to the jawbone and nearing the thin lips, "...But your body says otherwise, Merwin..."

"You're supposed to rule, to be a king," no jealousy – that would have been on a previous occasion – or anger, Drake was merely stating the solid truth, "not run after old flames." Flames? Like in a fire? Burning and shattering everything to nothing, nothing but mere ashes? Caine couldn't bring himself to follow the deranged path of thinking.

Tugging – he doesn't want to be here – at the metallic restrains that kept his hands bound to the wooden bed, the cold steel causing his hands to freeze. Only two months into the FAYZ and he is already reduced to this; a sextoy for a megalomaniac wannabe evil overlord. Oh joy.

The infamous Merwin (that won't be infamous anymore if someone found out of his little secret) didn't believe in fairytale romances with a prince on a white horse. He was neither a prince nor a princess – god forbid – but perhaps the undefeated dragon? But who controlled the dragon? No one was supposed to control the dragon, Drake concluded, in an idle form of mood.

Not even _him._

Yet _he _was very much in control at the moment; ravishing the psycho's neck, wet tongue doing god-knows-what to the hypersensitive skin there and tasted his throat where the most vulnerable vein in the whole body rested a few millimetres underneath. The vein that could end his life. Caine didn't have to use a lot of strength to just grab the sadist by the throat and squeeze, and squeeze, until Drake's eyes started popping out, and then squeeze some more, and squeeze and squeeze until he foamed like a dog and there's a cracking noise and-

"Your mind is clouded."

Oh yes, very much so.

"No."

_Liar._

"And even if it was, it's not any of your fucking business, freak."

_Liarliarliarliarliarliarliar._

His business is the megalomaniac's business too. They are bound by invisible chains.

Mercuric eyes widened, then closed as the dragon-tamer kissed him in a successful and non-gentle attempt on silence him.

Oh, Drake forgot, toys doesn't communicate or express their emotions. _How stupid of me_, he thought, in a gloomy mood.

Why did it hurt? Perhaps it was because he was sick of being a replacement for the real thing. The fucking witch was what Caine wanted but couldn't have, right?

Functioning as replacement sex pissed him off.

But if he was unwilling why did he let Caine do this shit to him?

It was unwilling! He was handcuffed to the fucking bed with no chances of escaping! Of course it was unwilling!

'_Yeah but you _let_ him handcuff you to the bed,'_ an annoying little voice argued in his head.

"Again, your eyes gets this narrowed, glassy look as if you're hearing voices. Are you hearing voices Merwin?" A skeleton-like finger ran down his bare chest, Caine sitting on top of him and rubbing himself against the psycho to gain his attention. "Do I have to drown them out with your own moaning? You always are quite loud during sex..." The sociopathic leader tilted his head to the side, questionable if his provocation has succeeded or not.

"Fuck you."

A terrifying grin stretched across the cunning snake's face, "No Merwin, fuck you."

Drake knew he was just a sextoy in Caine's life.

He just didn't expect it to hurt so much.

.

.**  
><strong>

**A/N:** THE OOCNESS. IT BURNS. ALWAYS.

*disappears in flames*


	9. Memories in the Sun

**Disclaimer: **I would kill to own Gone™ so I could make it a slash novel instead.

**Rating: **K+

**Warning:** Über fluffiness! You read right! SUPERB OOCNESS. IT BURNS. Also a mere shounen ai kiss.

**Beta: **JokerGrace.

**Type: **MEGA-OLD ONESHOT.**  
><strong>

**Genre: **Romance, fluff.

**Pairing:** Dram.

**Summary****:** The new spring grass the two of them lay on was oddly comfortable, especially since Sam used his boyfriend's lap as a pillow.

**Words: **1'547

**A/N:** MY **FIRST GONE™ ONESHOT EVER**. THIS WAS WRITTEN **A YEAR AGO**. SEEING THE DIFFERENCE IN MY WRITING STYLE THEN AND MY WRITING STYLE NOW IS QUITE ASTOUNDING. SO ASTOUNDING THAT I WANTED TO SHARE IT WITH YOU.

BE THANKFUL.

AND THIS IS AN EXPERIMENT. I JUST WANT YOU TO SEE HOW I HAVE CHANGED.

I'VE SHIPPED THIS PAIRING SINCE THE FIRST BOOK. HERO X VILLAIN FTW.

MY CAPS LOCK BUTTON IS STUCK. SORREH. KEYBOARD IS STICKY. CAINE HAVE YOU BEEN USING IT SINCE DIANA HAS LEFT YOU AND YOU HAVE TOO MUCH SEXUAL TENSION BUILT UP INSIDE SO YOU HAVE TO USE PORN SITES TO GET OFF?

(I SUCK.)

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**Memories in the Sun**

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"_Flowers have spoken to me more than I can tell in written words. They are the hieroglyphics of angels, loved by all men for the beauty of their character, though few can decipher even fragments of their meaning."_ ~ Lydia M. Child.

.

.

"Temple." It came out as a silvery whisper, but still loud enough for the one called to hear. The teen moved slowly, opening his brown eyes only to look up into a pair of serious grey orbs staring directly at him.

"Hm?" he made the questioning sound half groggy, wanting to rub his eyes but afraid that it might break the pleasant situation.

"Temple," his boyfriend repeated, in a much quieter tone this time, and Sam had to restrain himself in order to hear what Drake Merwin was saying. He had always been that way, insisting on addressing Sam with his last name. It had annoyed Sam at first, and to his embarrassment made him a little sad, but it had become a standard way of addressing each other between the two and Sam didn't mind that much anymore.

"What?"

Drake pushed some strands of hair away from Sam's face, his fingers then running trough the mass of brown, almost tenderly.

"Ya fell asleep," Drake informed, face serious. There wasn't much emotion in his voice.

It was true; Sam had fallen into a deep sort of sleep, here on the distant hill behind Perdido Beach. It wasn't his fault. The new spring grass the two of them lay on was oddly comfortable, especially since Sam used his boyfriend's lap as a pillow.

"Yeah, I did. So why the hell did you wake me?" Sam's voice was returning to its normal tone, but he still had that sour tone to it, probably for being woken up so 'early'. That wasn't really true; it was soon night.

Drake shrugged, his hands sliding from his boyfriend's hair and down to his own sides. Sam snorted in disapproval with losing the warmth, but Drake didn't seem to care (or notice, if Sam was going to pretend.)

"I jus' wanted to show you the sunset, 'cause it's not everyday that it looks like this." Drake replied. "No need to get all angry." Knowing him, there surely was something more to it.

Clouds moved lazily over the horizon, and a crimson red sunset played against the heavens. Drake suddenly started ripping up grass, letting go and ripping up. He continued this never-ending cycle for a while.

First the sound annoyed Sam, but he got used to it soon enough. He didn't want to stop Drake, because the younger teen didn't seem to know of his own actions at the moment, too lost in thoughts.

"I wasn't... angry, you know." The sort-of-an-apology came three minutes and forty-six seconds after Drake had finished his boyfriend's answer. Drake had counted.

"I know."

Sam closed his eyes. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he suddenly asked, and his boyfriend knew what he meant at once.

"See for yourself." Even though Drake usually was quite an ass, he could be calm and reserved when he wanted to. Or was too tired to give a shit. Usually it was the second reason.

"No. Describe it for me."

Drake huffed. "Why would I do that, when it's right in front of you?" Sam didn't answer at once. "Lazy Temple. It's just red. Um, not like light red, but a darker colour, like blood maybe. Crimson? Yeah, that's the one." Drake smiled. "It's astonishing. The sun is burning and is like, really close. Makes you wanna touch it."

"Too bad you're not an astronaut. What do ya say, Houston, is it your new dream?"

Drake suddenly sneered. "Shut up," he snapped, but his dark eyes went back to normal as he noticed Sam's slightly troubled stare. "Just... Listen, OK?"

Sam knew that Drake had some mental problems. It was actually Drake's psychologist, of all people, that had informed him about Drake's special case. The psychologist had meant that Sam should know since they were so close—Coates were not a strict homophobic school, even though some of the kids and teachers were quite judging, but one glare (or beating) from Drake was enough to silence them permanently—and the doctor had actually called his mother to talk about it.

Of course, his mother had been also a little shocked when she discovered that her son was together with a guy from the problem-school Coates, but quickly accepted it. She still was a little awkward around Sam when he talked about 'being' or 'hanging out' with Drake.

Well, at least now she didn't actually have to worry about Sam getting a girl pregnant at young age.

But, the hardest part about the relationship was Drake's mental problems. For Christ's sake, the teen did lack a conscience. Only Sam seemed to be the one who could make him feel a /little/ remorseful about shooting some ugly guy in the foot.

It wasn't that hard to be together. They had it pretty easy. Sure they fought, little things, big things, because Drake was sadistic, rude and ultimate asshole and Sam was... often pretty much the same.

Drake had a 30 cm long burn-mark stretching from the palm of his hand to up his wrist. Sam had—in a moment of sheer, blind anger—burnt it by using a lighter by accident. But that was before they'd become close, though. Sometimes Drake took Sam's hand and stroked it over his mark just to see the freaked-out expression on his boyfriend's face. Truly hilarious. That was, for Drake.

And for some strange reason, they fit together.

"...and there's a cloud that looks like Soren, and it won't move from its spot up there, so its fuckin' creeping me out," Drake continued. He poked Sam in the nose. "Are ya even listening?"

"Yes." Sam rolled onto the side, resting peacefully in his boyfriend's lap, wrapping his arms around Drake's sides.

Drake rolled his eyes, clearly not believing his boyfriend. "Tsk, whatever. Jeeze, you're such a fuckin' pussy, insisting on hugging me like this..." However, he didn't push Sam away, and the amused brown-haired teen guessed that Drake secretly enjoyed the warmth.

"We should head home." They weren't far from the town, but Sam really didn't like the dark, and he'd actually told Drake that, who'd only shrugged and told him with a smirk: 'I'll protect ya.' They were lying at a grassy hill together, far away from everyone else.

"Mhm," was Drake's reply, and now was the moment for the first time that Sam saw his boyfriend's eyes were closed. He shook Sam off and rose from his lying position.

Surprisingly, he reached out and helped Sam up.

"Thanks," the shocked teen said, frown disappearing and both eyebrows rising.

"You owe me," was the immediate reply. "I'll decide a splendid punishment for bein' a lazy ass later..." That wasn't good.

Sam sighed.

"Ah! I know!" Drake shouted, before turning to Sam.

He walked a few steps forward. "Stay right there." Oddly the other teen did as he was told. "Give me your hand." Sam did.

He felt something light being laid in the palm of his hand, and Drake used his hand to close it. "Open it."

"A flower?" Sam stared questionably at his boyfriend. "God that's cheesy. Didn't know you was that romantic type, Drakie-poo~!"

"Just shut it. I know you love it, Temple. I read on the Internet that soppy little tween girls love to receive flowers, as a sign of 'a bond' between 'em or somethin' like that." Drake smirked.

"I ain't a tween girl!" Sam shouted, but still held into the flower much to Drake's amusement.

"Sure you aren't."

The wind played with their hair. "This is my punishment?" Sam asked half amused and half suspicious.

"No," Drake breathed, "This is," he nudged his face closer to Sam's, and with a swift movement had his boyfriend's lips captured with his own.

Sam twitched, but quickly leaning into the touch while his arms rose and tangled themselves into the mass of dirty-blonde hair. He kissed back just as fiercely, a blush creeping into his checks as Drake playfully bit down on his lower-lip.

"Ngh, s-stop," Sam finally managed to find his voice, even though it was ebbed out by the sweet taste of Drake, "You're creating..." a pause and a shudder, "...a bruise."

"Actually, I was coutin' on it," Drake said. He let go for a few seconds, leaving Sam gasping for the precious oxygen that his lungs were screaming for, before returning to the precise art of kissing one more.

Drake's hands lowered and he squished the other's buttocks, to which he revived a startled yelp allowing him to slip his tongue into Sam's mouth.

The other couldn't make much more then some pathetic noises before Drake spared him the embarrassment and brought their bodies flush together.

He twisted his demon-tongue (Sam's well-fitting nickname) with the brown-haired teen in a painfully fast motion, before getting to the important business of exploring Sam's hot, wet cave to the fullest.

Sam breathed hard when they broke apart, using his hand to wipe away his own—and the other's—salvia. "Good God..."

Drake flashed a shit-eating grin. "I would prefer just being your partner, but I don't particularly mind being your god as well." He cackled, something that sounded like a hysterical and twisted sound to most, but Sam only rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's bad sense of humour.

Life seemed so easy at times like this.

.

.

**A/N:** THE OOC-NESS. IT BURNS. But isn't it merely impossible to make fluff with Drake if he's gonna be in character? Little do I know.

It exists clouds that looks like Caine. Caine the Whale *nudge nudge wink wink at JokerGrace*


	10. Binding

**Disclaimer: **Gone™ isn't mine in this moment.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings:** None.

**Beta: **This is pure Atchair - beware of grammar mistakes!

**Type: **Trailer. Not to be mistaken with a preview. This holds original content.**  
><strong>

**Genre:** Angst, adventure, spiritual, fantasy, drama, oh so many more.

**Pairing:** CainexDiana.

**Summary:** Teaser trailer for upcoming fic Nocturne. Like Snow White herself, Sam would bite the venomous apple and make a deal with an unknown devil – the consequenses for this act will be larger and more exchanting that he would ever have imagined.

**Words:** Around 2000.

**A/N: **This is one of my better works. Though I think my writing style will change a tad since I have been reading a lot of poetic work therefore adapting quite a new and wicked writing style.

This fic will be long – three long arcs. One in the past, on in the future, and one in-between.

Inspired by Sandman by Neil Garman. It's one of the most awesomely scary and violent cartoons of the nineties ever.

_A bizarre and beautiful tale, fuelled by a promise, resulting in two quests to defy Time from the mysterious Niûr. _

Epic, eh? Nocturne means "a song that is usually played when it is night" btw.

**The Hourglass arc:** This is a special one, because it will appear in-between each of the other arcs and on all occurrences having Niûr (an original character created to also be The Gaiaphage) at least one place in the chapter. It will often be conversations, exceptionally long ones, though I cannot guaranty that the small-minded will understand anything of it since Niûr speaks in an old and formal way. This is also the arc the prologue will be in – the moment that Sam realises that he is dead when Niûr tells him.

**The Banquet arc:** This will be set while it's winter, around 1700, in the English city of London, simply owing to the fact that I've been in the country quite a few times and I adore the history there. Plus there's another fact there but that would be spoiling. Though I hardly think people from England will have any issues finding out what historical happening that occurred. Anyway, this will be focused around Sam Temple living in a small room full of old toys mastering the art of thievery, constantly bothered with the memories from The FAYZ – though sharing any more would be spoiling all the fun. Let's just say three of my favourite Gone™ characters will be entering.

**The Teal Train** (also known as TTT)** arc: **Since it will take quite the time writing both those up there, I haven't decided the whole plot of this one. Of course, I know the basic plot line, yet filling in the plot holes and growing a pleasant explanation for everything in the end will be harder than I'd first imagined. To what I got so far, this will first be set at a futuristic train – its mission to take a bunch of kids over the desert to what the kids calls "The Safety point". It also includes an enchanted forest.

Back to this trailer – it is kinda many small parts from Nocturne collected together without any connection to each other. It isn't pieces that will be reused in Nocturne, but perhaps "behind the scenes" of situations that will happen in upcoming chapters. I won't spoil, so it's just from the **Nocturne** and the **Banquet** arc.

.

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**Binding**

**Previews of Nocturne**

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**Queen**: And since you've been so good to poor old Granny, I'll share a secret with you. This is no ordinary apple. It's a magic wishing apple.  
><strong>Snow White<strong>: A wishing apple?  
><strong>Queen<strong>: Yes. One bite, and all your dreams will come true.  
><strong>Snow White<strong>: Really?  
><strong>Queen<strong>: Yes, girlie. Now, make a wish, and take a bite. -Snow White

.

.

_Seems that I have been held, in some dreaming state_

Life.

It was fragile thing, as brittle as lucid glass, as easy to crush as a little bird's heart, its frantic heartbeat and onyx-black – almost soulless-looking, though if black is the colour of death, is white the colour of life? – eyes resembling eternally deep wells of helplessness, and it twists and wriggles to no avail. This is until the moment you decide to _slaughter_ it, clenches the little heart with your thumbs, and observers as the life oozes out of it with some sick kind of interest.

Damage. Break. Shatter. Demolish. Ruin. Destroy. _Slaughter_. Kill. Murder.

I know many words; no one seemed to fit the present moment.

_A tourist in the waking world, never quite awake_

When he had found himself standing in front of the truck driving in 80 km directly towards him, he had known it was over. Those three seconds it had taken before he was swept away from this earth, he had thought. Wondering, almost. Also regret filled him. The auburn-haired teen had made a promise; to protect, and was now failing miserably. _Way to go_, he thought to himself. Because kids died everyday, it seemed, by everything from starvation, man slaughtering bugs, illnesses causing you to cough up your own vital organs, or any other grotesque method of ending their lives.

And what did Sam do? Of all the possible gruesome deaths? He got hit by a fucking truck.

Self-pity filled him but left as soon as it entered; he could not bring himself to feel sorrow. Any plainer fashion of describing his end was that he was going to die and there were nothing he could do about it.

Then the truck hit him.

Death met him. But unintentionally or not, he rejected her and fell into a glitch.

_No kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber_

Caine pinched the bridge of his nose, an attempt to chase away the building migraine. Narrowed hazel eyes were directed solemnly at his idiot brother.

Almost overwhelming hatred rushed out of a sudden trough his veins, forcing him to take action. He had no utter desire to remain in this past world in a different country than his own, and even if the two of them shared the same mother and father it did not mean that Sam Temple's opinion mattered, Caine justified himself with. He also recalled Sam saying that he despised him – well so why did he insist on his twin staying?

With those thoughts in mind, he rushed towards his brother, hazel fire glinting deviously in his gaze, and fingers curled into fists. He aimed at Sam.

_Until I realised that it was you who held me under_

"It is necessary, sister dear. Humans are like mere animals – perhaps a few more brains, some of them at least, but still animals – and therefore inflicting pain on them is completely okay. Humans forget – it is not like this man will remember this moment for the rest of his pitiful life."

"Boy, Time. He is a boy. A mere child."

"Does it make any difference? Men and children are alike. Males are unintelligent beings that only thinks of dumb mating rituals with the opposite or same sex. Females are for no use but to complain and take space."

Sand-blonde hair was soaked with blood, and he was quite sure that his left eye didn't function anymore. Would never function again, probably. His good eye's pupil flicked hysterically around in the white room, trying desperately to find an escape route before_ they_ got their hands on him again. His arms and legs were restrained to the table, making him unable to move an inch.

The voice was again directed at Drake, this time. "You are rejected by Death – she brought you back for this so we could give you a mission. I have far more important business than to handle small insects trying to challenge me because of my sister, Death's, mistake. I brought you back because Sam Temple is your worst nemesis – and you are going to slaughter him." Time didn't flinch as it held a dark-grey metal stick – which on the end was glimmering with orange because of the fire it had rested in. "We intend to torture you until you understand who is your master. That's all there is to it."

"H-Help me..." The word tasted like dirt in Drake's mouth; the taste causing him to grimace. He had never uttered it before. Though the thing he'd soon experience was something he'd only seen in horror movies; he was a sadist and liked to inflict pain on others. Revive pain was another thing.

"There are no help for you kind," Time stated, tone blasé as he brought the burning metal onto Drake's good eye. The infamous sadist screamed.

_Felt it in my fists, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids_

She fell.

Snow – white, white, white, snow – laid several centimetres over the ground, making no pavement or earth visible on the cold winter day. It was like a soft but cold madras, embracing her as she lay motionless on it.

The boy with the thick copper-coloured hair beside her screamed, shook her, tried to get her to rise. He screamed, he sobbed, he mumbled, he even went as far as crying – tears running down his cheeks and freezing to ice moment they hit the white snow.

Dark-chocolate eyes closed completely, not even noticing it when he held her tightly, snow falling all around him and his warm breathe creating smoke to erupt from his mouth. The mouth she had kissed seconds ago, a kiss of goodbye.

But when she fell...

He fell with her.

_Shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs_

Sam had promised his new master not to call if _he_ wasn't in a life or death situation. Niûr had said that the teen was of utter importance – everybody else was mere tools in his quest against Time. Even when both his brother and what he considered to be his female comrade lay motionless by his feet there was little he could do.

He had to choose.

Diana seemed dead. Caine lay nearby, in a pool of his own blood, and had obviously tried to get help, which had ended with that he got beaten up. Street teenagers weren't welcomed here – they were thieves, all of them! Which was true in a way, thinking of Sam's current profession. People hated thieves, those who stole from people which had worked hard for their money rightfully, not caring that the thieves perhaps had it twice as hard.

But Sam was tired and weak himself, and knew that if he didn't handle fast one of them would die here – he couldn't carry both. Can you imagine having to decide who will die and not? Such a choice was unbearable.

_No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone_

A pale creature. Its bright yellow eyes glinted like golden coins – just as alluring and engrossing as money. It appeared out of nowhere, standing there in the room, and standing in-between two piles of broken dolls. It became clear to Sam that this wasn't a human.

Beauty was something it didn't lack. It was nearly impossible to tell which sex the thing had – although a feminine face with makeup that just made it even more drop-dead-gorgeous, it still harboured a male body and dressed properly in a violet suit. It was sex on legs; no denying that, and even as a man Sam couldn't help but be taken aback by its radiating prettiness.

"Oh Sammy," it pouted in a teasing and mocking tone, "You're no fun." Yellow eyes glinted with mischief. "No fun at all. With you around I can't get anything I... _Desire_."

Sam knew who it was at once. "Desire. You're not welcome here." It had no gender; Desire had never been satisfied with just one sex. Had never been satisfied with one of anything, really, because it _was _pure want – pure, primitive want– and as soon as it had gotten what it wanted Desire went to look for new things to want. It was just how it lived; just how it was.

_No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden_

The deal was simple.

Desire wanted satisfaction – something to desire. And desire would not leave the room until its inhabitants stopped desired something. Which was quite hard, since desire was something that came from the beating heart, and the heart was something you could not control.

Something sexual.

It was the easiest way; he knew very well when he saw into those yellow cats eyes smugly staring back at him, silently daring him to say no to the unspoken deal it had offered.

_No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love_

As much as he wanted to deny it, Drake Merwin was still remotely human.

Wandering trough the empty streets of London, he wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm. He swore he could hear a crow far away, mocking him for his humanity. Coldness was something that shouldn't have brought him so much despair, he was a cold-blooded killer for Christ's sake!

Well the fourteen-year-old version of Drake had never actually murdered someone up to now, and he harboured no inhuman snake arm yet either; Time had brought him before that, not wanting what he considered to be a too animalistic creature (he still considered Drake a creature though) to do such an easy job as killing a mere boy. No, how the mentally deranged sadist was before The FAYZ was already enough.

The words repeated in his head: _Find and slaughter Sam Temple and the ones that support him_. Of course he would! They had tortured it into his mind, thereafter to heal him properly. But as stated previously in another time, another place, some scars went deeper, beneath the skin. They had done carvings on his very bone, and stuck out both of his mica-coloured eyes. How he had regained his sight was a mystery - but he still remembered the pain as if it had happened few seconds ago.

Recalling the grotesque memories, he shivered with both cold and fear. Too bad when they had healed him, they had not taken away his dreadful remains of humanity as well. No, coldness still made him get on his knees, and starvation still gnawed in his stomach.

Though it did not matter. He would find and kill Sam Temple.

Because he was responsible for Drake's horrifying torture, right? He was also responsible for that Death had rejected him as she took him from the world; not allowed him to get that sweet eternal slumber at the end of his life, right? He didn't like death, but he did not fear it either. When his time come, it would come. But now that Death, she who controlled it, had pulled him out of his world too soon, Time had told him he could no longer pass on...

_No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love_

Therefore, when rejected by death, the two of them could not enter the afterlife. They were stuck doing their tasks – not knowing what would happen if they succeeded or failed.

_No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world_

_And I could hear the thunder and see the lightning crack_

_And all around the world was waking, I never could go back  
>'Cause all the walls of dreaming, they were torn wide open<br>It finally it seemed that the spell was broken_

_And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open_  
><em>And all my bones began to shake, my eyes flew open<em>

_No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone_  
><em>No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden<em>  
><em>No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love<em>  
><em>No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love<em>  
><em>No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world<em>

_Snow White's stitching up the circuitboard_  
><em>Someone's slipping through the hidden door<em>  
><em>Snow White's stitching up your circuitboard<em>

_No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone_  
><em>No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden<em>  
><em>No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love<em>  
><em>No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love<em>  
><em>No more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world<em>

_Snow White's stitching up the circuitboard_  
><em>Someone's slipping through the hidden door<em>  
><em>Snow White's stitching up your circuitboard<em>  
><em>Someone's slipping through the hidden door<em>

.

.

**A/N: **Got lazehhh in the end. I love the end lyrics though, echoing in the song... The _nocturne_, perhaps. And I didn't want to spoil the entire first arc, because those up there were actually only the first six (my notes says so anyway) chapters.

Now I seriously need a beta-reader. I would ask JokerGrace, yet she's already beta'ing three of my long-chaptered stories (and working on a collab thing with me) so asking her to do another would be torturing her unnecessary. Though I'm very picky about betas, and most of the GONE™ beta-readers are... No cannot find better a word for idiots. Don't fucking write what you hate in your beta-profiles. That's fucking uninspiring. And god, write more than one word about yourself! [/Rant]

Drake: Someone is cranky!

Author lady: You shut your mouth or I'll make Sam on top in one of the upcoming lemons! - Threat that always works. Drake fucked off at least.


	11. Thorns

**Disclaimer: **Not in this lifetime, at least.

**Rating:** M

**Warning: **I can't be bothered enough with this. DON'T READ IF YOU'RE A PUSSY, OR YOU DON'T LIKE EXTREMELY DISTURBING GORY HORROR MOVIES. THIS INCLUDES SICK TORTURE, AND AN ALTERNATIVE ENDING WITH RAPE. THIS IS SICKSICKSICK AND I MERELY WROTE IT BECAUSE IT WAS A CHALLENGE AND I WANTED TO PROVE TO MYSELF THAT I COULD. THIS PIECE OF FICTION IS NOT FOR CHILDREN – I AM SERIOUS. PLEASE. DON'T. READ. IF YOU'RE EASILY DISTURBED. This is fucked up shit.

**Beta: **Excuse bad grammar/horrible spelling. No beta.

**Type:** Challenge oneshot.

**Pairing:** Nah. Unless you take sadism as a sign on sexual- *shuts mouth abruptly* No, I sure hope no one does that.

**Summary:** Drake's clothes, his face, his hair, his fucking_ fingertips_ – all were drenched in sweet crimson. Like a beautiful dark-red rose. _In which just under the rose, there is thorns, _Sam thought, almost absent in the world of the living. _Merwin is just a whole thorn._ He slipped into death, the escape being so welcoming. _Just a whole thorn. There are no real roses. _

**Words:** 3'670

**A/N:** I think it was months since Clovers-Charm challenged me to write a sadistic oneshot to prove which one of us that was the most sadistic author. I had a mad summer, however now am returned and therefore ready to respond to it. After watching _Reservoir Dogs_ by THE Tarantino himself, I got grotesque inspiration when the ear cutting scene happened. Gawd I fucking love that guy's movies. Some themes taken from there, obviously. I steal a lot of themes, don't I?

Enjoy Clovers-Charm. You challenged the wrong person 8D

I really shouldn't be putting jokes and smiley faces anywhere near this fic.

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**Thorns**

**Challenge made by Clovers-Charm**

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"_You kids shouldn't play so rough. Somebody might start cryin'."_ -Mr Blonde, Reservoir Dogs

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"Well well well well... Quite the situation we find our pretty little selves in, isn't that right?"

Drake revived no answer to the mocking question, which just caused his satisfaction to grow. He tilted his head slightly down, smirk widening into a sharp-edged grin, ivory shark teeth seeming even sharper than usual.

"Huh? Isn't that right _Zil_...?"

Groaning, the one questioned threw his head backwards, tugging helplessly at his restrains on the chair. The chains were tightened to a whole new level of tight – it itched and burnt on Zil's skin, and worsened his mood by far. A thin line of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth after the harsh interaction with Drake's fist previously that night. "Fucking freak!" he snarled, spitting in the direction of his foe.

"..._Sammy_?"

Sam lay in the corner of the small warehouse, in a pool of his own blood. His hands were tied together with handcuffs (making him unable to use his powers – the skin under his fingers had been peeled off with a butcher knife), twinkling silvery from in the dim light from the half-broken light bulb swinging lazily in the air. His auburn hair was soaked in crimson, midnight-blue eyes shut, and appearing to have been knocked out after Drake had smashed his head into the stone wall. When he'd come to his senses, he would feel that Drake had already disabled his right foot and that a few ribbones had been broken in an attempt to fight his way free previously.

"Ah, Sammy will wake up soon enough," Drake said happily, although with a sinister undertone in his 'cheerful' statement. "That leaves only us to play together, eh, Zil?" His steady footsteps echoed through the empty ware, taking good time getting there. Grin widening for each step, the slender form stopped in front of his newest plaything and studied him with wild, psychopathic eyes, twinkling in a mercuric colour, just like Sam's handcuffs.

"Get away from me, you freaking monster! When my gang comes save me, you'll be sorry you even came near me, freak!" Even if the meaning of the words meant confidence, Zil was as frightened as a lamb in front of a starved lion, trembling in fear. When the creature worse than his worst nightmare bent down, his gleeful face nearly inches from his own, Zil could not stop the small "Gah!" noise from escaping his sore lips.

"Oh no. I brought you far away from those small creeps, and it's still night time and your friends are all asleep. Such a wonderful opportunity like this cannot be ruined, ya see, and I have to make the most out of it. Can't have anyone disturbing our playtime."

Dancing around Zil like the dancing devil he was at heart, Drake circled him, striking terror into his victim's rapidly-pumping heart. "What should we do first? I have some many toys I want to try out on you~!" Drake went over to a small aluminium suitcase lying forgotten in the corner, and brought out a few things. Some of them included knifes and guns, among other wonderfully dangerous weapons that could kill a person in a matter of seconds.

He held up a butcher knife, gently tilting it back and forth in Zil's direction.

"Any preferences?"

"Sick bastard!"

"Oh no, I'm feeling quite fine thank you," Drake said with sarcastic sophistication, chuckling darkly afterwards. "But you want me to decide? How nice of you!" Laughing like the mad thing he was, he took a old shaving knife and again dancing towards Zil.

"D-Don't do this man. Please, man, don't do this," Zil suddenly blurted, stammering, when he understood how serious the horrifying situation actually was. "Don't."

Cheerful expression vanished in a matter of half a second, something primitive appeared in silver eyes and he didn't waste any time as he brought the shaving knife towards Zil's face and plunged it straight into his cheek. It was deep enough to go trough the skin there and into the mouth.

Zil screamed.

Mildly satisfied, Drake drew it out and studied it, blood dripping from it, creating a small pool of human tomato-juice at the ground. "Neat," he muttered to himself, before watching his work with pride. Fresh blood gushed out of the newly-created wound, soaking Zil's white shirt. "White is such a beautiful colour," Drake quoted in a bizarrely distant voice, "it makes the red look so pretty."

"You're sick!" Zil cried out, feeling how the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. "You're fucking sick!"

Knitting his eyebrows, Drake rolled his eyes and threw the blade from one hand to another. "You're right. It was wrong of me." With the new light in Zil's teary stare, Drake was quick to break it, unintentional or not, "I should have used a larger knife! Wasting babies like this," he winked with the new sharp knife (mostly used by barbers), "on _teenagers_ like yourself is a mistake on my part. I apologize."

"What about this one?" Drake smiled wickedly as he held it up, admiring its shape and sharp edge, "I remember holding up to a girl's throat once when she asked if I had any mental issues. Cute girl. Cute knife."

To prove how fabulous it was, Drake tightened his grip on it and cut it trough Zil's upper arm. Not pleased with the scream he was rewarded with, he sighed. Then he got an idea. He cut off some of the restrains – consisting of a few belts and rags – and held up Zil's now free hand instead. A smile made it to his face as he looked at the chubby small fingers. "How fucking fragile. As brittle as glass." He sniggered, "Which should I cut off first, I wonder..."

Zil tried to tear his hand away, fighting like a trapped mouse against the cat playing with him. Oh god, he didn't want to die, he had to help the normal children of Perdido Beach, help them with winning over the manipulating freaks- "_AAAAAAARGH!"_

The thumb fell to the floor without a sound. "That was convincing," Drake said calmly. "But not enough." Then he continued by lying Zil's hand back on the chair, curling his fingers around the thin place on the arm just beneath the hand. He got ready, lowering and raising the knife a few times to help his aim, then he cut off all of the little freak-hater's four remaining fingers. The screaming sypony was like music in his ear, and he resisted the urge to sing something horrid. He then inserted the bloodied weapon into Zil's knee, extremely harshly with both hands, stabbing, then turning it around, and afterwards standing up and shoving his red hands down his pockets.

All the screaming and sobbing was rather satisfying, and Drake bent his head backwards making a long "Ahhhhhh"-noise, breathing out the word.

Wiping blood on his shirt, he strolled over to Sam's weak form, directing his attention at him this time. "Good morning beautiful," he said in a sing-song quality of a voice, noticing how the four-bar's pupils flicked around.

He was right. Blood really fit white perfectly. Sam's white shirt – not so white anymore – voted with that opinion.

Taking a hold of the crimson-soaked hair, he held Sam up after it. "So what are we gonna do with you Sammy, eh? Should I just get it over with and kill you? Nah. You're too much damn fun." He cackled, shaking him back and forth and drinking in the sadistic sight before him with ultimate joy. "Though I have to end you some time though. But don't worry – I will make it _epic_." The cackling increased, volume raising like if someone was holding the remote.

"What should I do Temple? Should I torture you in the same way I did with Zil? Should I kill you slowly? Should I rape you? Watch you scream out as I tear your virginity to pieces? Or should I rip off limb after limb, starting with your toes?"

What to do indeed.

Drake threw Sam at the floor, not bothered with the low weight but just to see the auburn-haired boy whimper and roll over, curling up and sobbing because of the never-ending pain. He soon regained his so-called cool though, aware of that Drake just got more excited with pained noises, and just whimpered quietly.

Time to brain-storm!

_Hm. What about- Oh yes_, Drake's eyes widened and slender fingers twitched in excitement, his thoughts wandering. Bending down to Sam with a look only a psycho could achieve, he tilted the brunette over on the back and went down on his knees. Into his nemesis ear, he whispered, "Remember the wounds I gave you?"

With a switch motion, the shirt that hid the terrible scars was ripped away. Sam immediately tried to hide himself, but Drake just kicked him into his stomach, thereafter to hold him steady so he couldn't move. "You're embarrassed over them aren't you?" Drake cackled again, even more hysterical this time, "How cute. No one knows, do they? That healer girl hasn't caused them to disappear either. You want to keep your pain to yourself right, not sharing it with anyway? Little heroic idiot."

"S-Shut up," Sam pressed out in-between groaning, whimpering again as his bad foot made contact with the floor. Drake used his whole bodyweight to sit on it just for those two words, not replying.

"So ashamed... Hell, what do I care? I'm the one that put them there."

Then it hit him.

"Ah! Zil!" he called out to the silent boy tied to the chair, turning to him. He hadn't moved, and couldn't either without pulling the knife (that had went trough his knee and the chair) out and removing the chains and restrains. "You haven't seen Sam's adorable scars, have you?"

When reviving no answer, he strolled over to the suitcase and picked up a gun. Whistling the melody to "I'm a little tea pot", he went on close range before pulling the trigger, blowing off Zil's foot. Hoarsely screaming, the hurt one sobbed and tore on his restrains.

Zil was in a world of agony. He almost couldn't register reality anymore, swinging back and forth as if he was going to throw up. Though the pain wasn't enough to send him into dreamland – even if he suffered from a blown-off foot (almost ten centimetres beneath the knee), fingers cut off, cheek cut open, skin peeled off, and a knife currently going right trough his knee.

"Answer me." Even though shouting, anger wasn't audible. Drake just smiled.

Zil struggled to remember what have been asked of him, but his survival instincts managed to force his brain into recalling the vague memory of a sick question, "N-No I haven't s-s-seen them," he sobbed. He'd cried himself dry.

"How sad. Let's take a look, shall we?"

"N-No..." Sam stammered.

"I didn't ask for you opinion." Drake stomped on the broken foot, still smiling, obvious lack of sanity in that smile. "Anyway," he took a hold of Sam's hair again and held him up after it.

"LOOK ZIL! LOOK AT THE PATHETIC FAILURE BEFORE YOU! THIS IS WHAT REALLY HAPPENED ON THE POWER PLANT! HE TRIED TO KILL ME BUT I FUCKED OFF WHEN SOREN THREW THAT FUCKING POLE AT ME! SO I CAME BACK FOR YOU. AND DON'T THINK I FORGOT WHAT YOU STAND FOR – YOU DESIRE POWER, JUST LIKE THIS BASTARD HERE, AND I LEARNED LONG AGO THAT TO ARCHIVE POWER YOU HAVE TO MURDER THE ONES THAT ALREADY HAVE IT!"

Drake took a moment to breathe. "LOOK AT THIS! LOOK ZIL." His fingernails drew marks were the scars were manifested.

"LAUGH."

Zil hated freaks. He really, really did. But seeing his number one enemy like this... No. He felt sorry for Sam. He also hated how he felt sorry, but he couldn't help himself. So he didn't laugh.

But he was no hero, and when Drake raised the gun, he forced a laughter.

It was hysterical – but not insane. No. That word had been used wrong by Drake – god that fucker was more than insane – and Zil didn't label himself in the same category. They were from different planets, almost, in his mind. Though Zil didn't want to die, and even if he "betrayed" his pride, he laughed. _Pride is a sin, is it not?_ He wondered.

Though the laughter continued.

"SEE SAMMY-BOY? EVERYBODY LAUGHS AT YOU." Even if it were just Drake and Zil, midst in all the pain and confusion Sam really felt like the whole world was laughing at him. "EVERYBODY HATES YOU. YOU LIE IN A POOL OF YOUR OWN BLOOD AND ARE SOON GONNA DIE. AND NO BODY FUCKING CARES, HAH."

Sam was struggling in his grip, moaning, whining and bitching, but the strength was oozing _out_ of him, "ISN'T IT BEAUTIFUL?" Drake let go, his the remains of his whip going up in the air before slashing down at Sam, again and again, faster and faster, harder and harder, just in tact with Sam's screaming and Zil's hysterical sob-laughter. You couldn't tell the difference if you had been asked if which one Zil did; crying or laughing.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days – it were all mixed up in his mind, he could no longer feel or think, just waiting for the grotesque moment to be over.

Then it stopped, and Sam could no longer feel his body. Zil had also stopped laughing, and was now crying openly, like a child missing its mother.

Drake's clothes, his face, his hair, his fucking_ fingertips_ – all were drenched in sweet crimson. Like a beautiful dark-red rose. _In which just under the rose, there are thorns, _Sam thought, almost absent in the world of the living. _No. Merwin is just a whole thorn._ He slipped into the realm of Death, the escape being so welcoming. _Just a whole thorn. There are no real roses. _

The sadist applauded, causing blood to go everywhere. "_Neat_," he repeated smugly, and went over to the suitcase again. Holding up a small container of gasoline, he also stuck a matchbox in the pocket of his bloodied dark jeans and went over to Zil again.

"Don't worry Sammy," he _soothed_, "I'll play some more with you when you wake up. I promise."

_Maybe his eyes. Maybe those are the roses. The silver roses, but with rotten rose blades, which crumbles when you touch them or come to near. _Sam was one place between the living and the dead now. _Like they're not really there. Just to lure insects into his web, like a spider._ Unintentionally, because of his current resistance (out of his mind), Sam giggled quietly, not loud enough for anyone but himself to hear.

Drake started whistle again, the main theme of the Saw movies this time, and drew out the knife from Zil's knee. "Can't waste that one, can we now?" he said smugly, and threw it in the opposite direction. Then he started pouring gasoline all over Zil, making sure to cover each inch with the easy-burnable liquid. It mixed in with blood and wounds and caused Zil to cry out again, but it didn't stop him.

Then Drake poured a straight line away from Zil.

"N-No... You c-c-can't do t-this..."

"Watch me." He lit a match, admiring the flame. He was no pyromaniac, but he adored the bright colours – the colour of blood was mixed in there too.

Orange – the colour of an orange, something he liked to pour into the new wounds of his victims (Coates had stopping buying in lemons after Drake, um, _used _too many of them) and watch them scream for mercy.

Yellow – the colour of the sun. Sun could burn people to death. And Zil was about to experience that fate, though there was no sun around there, just a very sadistic boy named Drake Merwin.

"No! NO! YOU CAN'T!" Tears streamed down his face.

"You done barking soon little dog? Are ya gonna bite? I need to get this over with. I know you fucking wanted me to hurt you some more, but that isn't possible I'm afraid – Sammy also wants some more, and I have already planned out all his punishments..." That was right – when alone, when hungry, when not feeling ecstatic, Drake had planned. Had thought each detail on his revenge on Sam Temple – the boy that didn't die when the psychopath had wanted him to die.

"It will probably take all night, and I don't have times for insects for you whimpering in the corner. Will disturb Sam's beautiful screaming, you see. But it's been fucking fun torturing you. I know you liked it." Drake tilted his head to the smile, still smiling madly. "They always like it."

"NO PLEASE NO GOD PLEASE-"

"Goodbye." Drake bent down, calmly, the lit match about to fall onto the gasoline as-

**BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!**

Drake stared blankly in front of him for a moment, before touching his chest. He looked at his blood-stained fingers. And this time, it was his own blood. "Fuck," was his famous last words before he fell to the ground, the match luckily not falling into the pool of gasoline.

Dead.

Finally. Five shots to the stomach. No one survives that shit.

Sam, lying with the suitcase, breathed hard. The gun fell out of his hand. A smear of blood laid in a long trail, showing that the half-dead four-bar had dragged himself across the ground.

"You deserved that, fucker," he muttered under his breath to the dead sadist on the floor.

Zil stared at him blankly for a moment. "How d-do I l-l-look?"

"Like shit," Sam replied.

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**A/N: **I'm fucked up. ...I listened to Bubble Pop while writing this *facepalm*

Now I challenge Clovers-Charm to prove if she's more sadistic than me! 8D But you're gonna fail. I guaranty it. I'm too awesome.

SO WAS THIS SADISTIC ENOUGH? 3

NO? WELL FUCK.

Then we'll see what I can do...

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**Thorns**

Alternative ending

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**Mr. Pink**: He seems okay now, but he was crazy in the store.  
><strong>Mr. White<strong>: This is what he was doing.  
>[<em>mimics randomly shooting innocent bystanders<em>]  
><strong>Mr. White<strong>: Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam.  
><strong>Mr. Blonde<strong>: Yeah, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. I told 'em not to touch the alarm - they touched it. If they hadn't done what I told 'em not to do, they'd still be alive.  
><strong>Mr. White<strong>: [_clapping_] My fucking hero.  
><strong>Mr. Blonde<strong>: [_taking a bow_] Thanks.  
><strong>Mr. White<strong>: That's your excuse for going on a kill-crazy rampage?  
><strong>Mr. Blonde<strong>: I don't like alarms, Mr. White. -Reservoir Dogs

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[This is so taken from Pulp Fiction, my favourite movie EVER, also by Tarantino. I swear that guy is a motherfucking genius.]

[Also I couldn't keep myself. This is Dram almost rape. D: I'm not encouraging rape here, but again, writing this because I'd like to see if I could. Don't read if you're sensitive about rape.]

.

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**BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!**

_Click._

Drake turned around.

Slowly.

Like someone who was afraid to get their ass shot.

And the sight that met him was quite astounding. Sam had dragged his mistreated body over the room – a long trail of crimson followed him – over to his "play-box", found one of his guns and tried to shoot him. Unfortunately for the wannabe killer there were no more bullets.

Drake moved with the speed of light – in three seconds, in which Sam had yet to know what was going on – he'd run over to Sam and ripped the gun out of his hands, thereafter to throw the petite body several meters away from the suitcase.

Kicking Sam in the stomach, mercuric eyes swirling with madness and anger, he did not utter a word. He just walked over to Zil, lighted a new match, and didn't say another goodbye to the anti-freak's scared face as he let it go. Zil's whole body was burning in a half second.

The sadist didn't seem bothered with the smell of burning flesh that evaded into his nostrils. He just walked towards Sam, and planted a foot on top of his back.

Drake stared at the wall behind him. Five holes in the wall. "I should have been dead," he mumbled, "I should have been lying on the ground. But maybe... Maybe you didn't want me to die."

"N-No... I w-want you t-to..." Sam mumbled, coughing up blood.

"No, you're lying... It all makes sense! You want me to hurt you!"

He forced Sam over on his back, hovering over him with crazy eyes. Blood was covering his face, and there were already a lot of wounds on his stomach from the whipping session. Sam was half-dead, but Drake wouldn't allow him to die just yet. Blood, oh so much blood. Red blood. Delicious blood.

_But it's still not enough._

_I need more – more blood._

_More despair._

Drake suddenly took one of his options that he considered to be the worst – he didn't really think, just acted on instincts. He forced Sam to turn around, thereafter forcing his legs apart (Sam screamed even louder than he already was because of the pain and shame), hurriedly ripping off his pants, thereafter pulling down his own.

Sam's head fell to the side, his struggling had stopped. His facial expression showed utmost horror. _What is he...? _He did not he did not want to understand.

Drake raped him. There was nothing enchanting about the arc, his first time was not filled with magic and happiness, oh no. He felt the sadist move within him, his tempo fast without a second thought for the person beneath him. It was easy to see that Drake didn't have much sexual experience – he was rough and unsure on some areas, but it did not matter, because he was just doing this to inflict mental and physical pain on Sam. The blood worked as lubrication, and it soon became easier to move within the boy.

Sam no longer had a voice. It smelled like blood, and burnt human. He just lay there, head to the side in ultimate shock.

After a few more seconds, Drake came with a growl and emptied himself completely. Sam twitched a little, not moving. Even if slightly exhausted, Drake smirked. "Don't be sad. I'm not finished with you."

"We have just started."

_Just started..._

.

.

**A/N: **I didn't manage to write teh raep tiem. Sorry, never written serious rape before. I struggle to write things I haven't experienced. Obviously I haven't experienced boy on boy action in person, but... I really hope that you're not so unintelligent that I have to spell it for you.

Yeah. But seriously, I win this challenge.


	12. Sandpaper

**D****isclaimer: **If Michael Grant knew what I was doing to his characters he would run away screaming.

**Rating:** PG-17 for lotsa sexual themes. This includes sex between two males; slash, boyxboy, yaoi – whatever you wanna call it. Don't like? Press the back button or I'll make you look like a used tampon.

**Beta: **None.

**Type:** Long slash drabble collection set at Coates.**  
><strong>

**Genre: **Drama, smut, minor fluffy dark themes. Yes that is possible.**  
><strong>

**Pairing:** Caike.

**Summary:** "Lust is the craving for salt of a man who is dying of thirst." -Frederick Buechner. CainexDrakexCaine, AUish preFAYZ. Told in a bunch of drabbles that's all connected.

**Word count: **11'928

**A/N:** Inspired by three things: JokerGrace who has kept on nagging about me writing a lemon for ages now, the fact that my poll revealed that there's more Draine fans than Dram fans out there AND that there's no real slash lemons in the Gone™ fandom that I really like.

I get my hundreds of sex ideas from all my yaoi doujinshis.

Set at Coates before the FAYZ. I refer to Caine as a Temple, since that _is_ his real name, though Drake doesn't know and calls him Soren. And I know they're underage, but let's ignore, ne? We're pretending they're over sixteen. Shh. Don't tell you mama.

PLUS, FRAGMENTS HASNOW OVER 60'000 WORDS :D it's the fourth to achive such a thing, the first with rating over M, the second that includes slash and that isn't a Mary Sue one :-)

.

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**Sand Paper**

**.**

"_Lust is the craving for salt of a man who is dying of thirst_." -Frederick Buechner

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Two pair of male school-uniforms were tossed over a barstool in the corner of the room and the black pants and the white shirts were easy to identify, owners irrefutably coming from Coates Academy. The room was an office of some sort – walls in a dull milky colour and cold stone floor not particularly attention-drawing but still fairly expensive. Dim light illuminated the room, even if the metallic-silver Venetian blinds were drawn completely down in an attempt to conceal whatever business the two teenagers had going on in there.

You could see clear dissimilarity between them just by looking at the clothes. While the first pair of silky, sleek pants in a coal black colour was folded flawlessly and the white shirt laid in just the same manner on the base of the barstool, the second pair was carelessly thrown over it, the shirt actually situated on the floor indicating its owner's extreme impatience for whatever came next.

Though the odour that roamed in the room brought more attention to itself than the surroundings – the easily recognisable smell of sex.

"Nngh... _Caine_..."

It was the latter of the two teenagers who moaned the name, the plead rolling of his tongue as if it had occurred several times before.

Drake Merwin took a sharp intake of oxygen, his nails scraping the wooden material of the desk, head arched back in continuing pleasure while his wet tongue coated his lips with salvia making him appear like Lust itself. His toes curled in pleasure as the adrenaline rushed trough his body, and it wasn't difficult to find out what kind of thing he partook in at the moment. The ambient temperature was high, and a tuft of light-red dusted Drake's cheeks, sand-blonde hair wet and sweaty and sticking to his face like glue.

He spread his legs further apart, giving Caine permission to move deeper while his partner in crime purred sinful things into his ears, and he slammed himself far within his uke again. Shark-like features was a mirror of pleasure to Caine's expression. Drake panted and violently jerked his head back and forth in tact with Caine's harsh and violent trusting, indigo shades clouding his vision as the other teen hit that spot that made the psychopathic teenager almost explode in mind-blowing pleasure. It ate him alive, Drake decided. "Jesus f-fucking Christ... do t-that again," he insisted with a voice near the breaking point, releasing a displeased grunt from the other.

"For one who despises being bottom you sure as hell is a demanding little bitch," Caine growled, but regardless of the insult thrust with all the force the powers of nature had granted him into his 'demanding little bitch'. Drake released a pained yelp followed by some strangled love-noise. "Fucking Hell," Caine cursed, "You're so damn tight." Just as the sentence had left his mouth, he clashed his damp lips down on Drake's slightly parted ones, not waiting a second before his impatient tongue forced its entrance.

Drake snarled against the rough kiss that currently tortured his dry lips, but he didn't refuse the fight of an aggressive dance of domination, tongues dashing against each other. He grinned as he dragged Caine on top of him, the sociopath smirking in response and planting on hand on each side of Drake to steady himself. Caine continued the waltz with the smirk widening as ivory teeth met each other and Drake's hands buried themselves in thick stands and almost threatened to rip half of them out with the force he was using by tangling and tugging himself in the rust-coloured hair. Caine didn't even wince as his skilled tongue continued to explore the spicy cave he knew so well, dashing against Drake's, as the bottom cursed and moaned at the same time.

"F-F-_Fuck_..." Was the mindless stutter that echoed trough the room.

Caine released him for a moment as he dug his nails into the sore flesh of Drake's upper arms, releasing a long wince that ended in a sore groan as Caine bit down on his lips so hard he drew blood. Crimson seeped from the wound but was barely noticed as Caine slammed himself inside of Drake again with such force that the psychopath screamed with adrenaline, pain and pleasure mixed in that high noise. Caine's eyelids started to drop – in the same mind-blowing savoury Drake had experienced moments before – as he came inside his bottom, emptying himself completely inside of the twitching psychopath.

Drake could feel the sociopath's release running down the inside of his thighs. Disgustingly satisfying feeling, but it was safe to say that Caine came before he did, which as a male, made Drake flash a shit-eating grin in his direction because of the haughtiness he was experiencing. The dirty feeling had been experienced previously but the sensation felt new every time. Then he suddenly became very aware of his own throbbing cock pleading for release, and gave the copper-haired teenager a sharp glance. "Fuckin'... finish me up," he demanded with his voice almost reeking, their wet bodies still tangled.

Caine quickly returned to his senses, even if he still felt the slight tiredness from his release slow his motions down, raised an eyebrow, "Oh really? When did you become the dominating one?" He leaned over the sweaty body underneath him, drawing circles in sensual movements on Drake's bare chest. His voice stunk of authority and Drake grit his teeth harshly together when he understood Caine wanted to play dirty this time. Well, dirti_er_. "Last time I checked, I was the one fucking you," Caine warned as his hand sneaked down to touch the other boy's hardened member, running a long, sleek finger up the underside before clasping his damp fingers around Drake's manhood. Drake let out a long moan and twitched even more in immediate response.

"If you want release, fucking beg like the good little bitch you are," the cunning grin grew wide on the top's features, widening even further when Drake startled cursing at the humiliation. But the primitive want was larger than the damn humiliation, even if the embarrassment was kind of hard to swallow.

"Please," Drake bit out. The uncommon word – that almost never slipped past his lips – left a sour taste in his mouth, and the emotion he bore was clear, lenient disgust, in particularly since the damned guy doing this to him was none other then Caine fucking Soren.

"Ah-ah-_ah_," Caine wiggled his finger back and forth in Drake's face with his free hand, "That's not enough. Do you want to suffer trough this or not? Perhaps not only into torturing _others _but you're a little sadomasochistic son of a bitch too, aren't you?" To prove his point, Caine bent further down and playfully let his tongue run up Drake's entire length, releasing a suffering growl from the one bottoming. His hazel eyes never left Drake's silver ones, making sure that their gazes were locked while Caine did all those vile things to him.

With grim interest Drake concluded that Caine was into the kinky begging. The figure hovering over him with an invisible (but Drake knew it was there) dark aura grinned like a mad person as the sand-blonde boy under him licked his lips in a clever crime, and seemed to appear quite innocent. That is, as innocent as Drake managed to act. "Caine, please," he moaned, watching Caine trough half-lidded gaze, "please fuck me you miserable shit," the psychopath finished as he smirked shakily up on the top.

"Good enough," Caine shrugged before a matching smirk slid to his face, him still appearing to have the upper hand in the situation. Not more then three seconds passed before Caine's hot tongue twisted away around the underside of Drake's throbbing manhood. The ruby-red tongue made its way to the head, releasing a set of moans coming from the psychopath – who was currently losing his cool.

Several moans later, Drake was rock-hard with the teasing and was on the edge of pleading Caine with sweet words to make the other teen let him have his release. Even if Drake loathed Caine, he loved the sociopath's overly-skilled tongue. _'Shouldn't be allowed,' _Drake thought grimly only to be followed by a long wince when Caine's hot mouth moved away from his manhood. He glared at the other, a stare demanding that he continued the very important business of sucking him off.

"Whore," Caine concluded about his attitude, rolling his eyes before painfully slowly clamping his mouth over Drake's dick, licking and sucking and teasing the psychopath mercilessly, drawing several forbidden love-noises from the other_. 'I did not know he could hold the tone that long,'_ Caine mused as a particularly long moan slipped from Drake's lips, aware of that the torture he brought on the other.

White teeth glinted in the dim light as he gritted his teeth together, upper lip curled in anger, harshly grabbing Caine's damp hair and violently forcing himself in until he hit the back of Caine's throat. Caine willingly sucked even harder, ignoring Drake's former demand to 'watch his teeth'.

"Shit... Gonna c-co-" he didn't finish the sentence and a shuddering gasp was released as he came, hot and sticky into Caine's mouth. Caine almost gagged, but willingly swallowed the salty liquid down. The grin slid back onto his face once he looked at Drake's retreating form, the exhaustion of coming twice in a row tiring him out, making the bottom fall back on the desk, struggling to maintain enough air. Caine quickly collapsed on top of him, and he could perceive Drake's chest rising and falling intact with his intakes of oxygen. A dazed smile played on his lips as he wiped damp, dirty-blonde hair away from Drake's face, allowing him to see those silver eyes shining underneath. He leant down, placing a wet trail of kisses run along Drake's collarbone and up his neck, gifted with shuddering from the person under him. Their lips met and Caine's skilled tongue made its way into Drake's mouth, forcing the other teen to taste himself. Drake's facial expression was a cloud of disgust, but it he slipped deeper into the concentration as his tired mind tried to focus on Caine.

He then slipped off the psychopath still swallowing the happenings he'd just gone trough, and grabbed his school-uniform without blinking. "Y'know, there'll be a teacher-meeting here soon. You better get up unless you want them to find your sultry for lying here."

"S-Shut the fuck up," Drake panted as he painfully rose from his position. He had the _usual _arch in his ass and cursed the upcoming agony that would arrive the day after, like always. "It was your idea to fuck me inside the psychologist's office anyway," he murmured.

"I did not insist upon it. I merely suggested an opinion for an unoccupied room where we could return to our usual business," Caine drawled with a slight hint of amusement hidden well underneath the thick layer of fake good-will and big words. He licked his teeth and felt the aftertaste of Drake's juices in his mouth, quite the mellow salty aroma, enjoying the fact that he'd managed taken the psychopath with dominance and made him the suggestive one of their secret sexual relationship.

An annoyed snarl echoed trough the fairly empty room, "Don't use up all your fine words in your wide vocabulary to try hide the true meaning on me." Drake saw trough the little façade his bed-partner had put up, and this didn't exactly please the victim of rightful doubt.

Caine shrugged, paying more attention to knotting his tie than Drake's scowling gaze that currently watched him. The mentioned jumped of the desk he had been fucked raw against and winced when shots of pain shot trough his back, appearing from the actions he'd partaken in previously. He spotted Caine's mockingly amused glance and tried to ignore the staring, instead grabbing his coal-black boxer and tugging them on with quick motions. But not before he'd reached to hear the long indecent whistle that came from the opposite direction, and Drake turned around.

"How horrible. And here I was, watching your perfect ass but your face totally ruined the image," Caine gave a fake sigh as he leaned against the nearby wall.

"Well I wouldn't mind some privacy," Drake hissed as he painfully tugged on his sleek pants. He snorted loudly when he noticed that the Temple's gaze wouldn't move away from him, or rather, not away from his _ass_. Caine stared at him with no shame in his hazel eyes, not even blinking; even if he'd never willingly tell the psychopath this, he found the infamous Merwin to be quite attractive on the outside. No muscles, more like a sleek, nice body in which the tight school-uniform pants showed perfectly. This wasn't the first time Caine had found himself gazing at the outline of Drake's ass, but the sand-blonde teenager wasn't even aware of Caine's feelings about his outer look.

With no goodbyes, Caine laid his hand on the golden doorknob. He clutched it and closed his eyes harshly together, thoughts wandering. There were no smile or smirk or even a slightest hint of happiness on his face in that second, and he sighed as he chewed on his bottom lip with his eyes closed firmly.

"Hey," Drake called. For a moment – only for a moment – Caine thought he were going to ask if he was feeling alright. "It's my turn on top tomorrow. Meet up outside my room." There were no intention of a question in his firm way of speaking, indicating that he wouldn't take no for an answer and he didn't expect Caine to respond either – he knew his partner in crime would come regardless of his opinions on the matter.

Caine didn't even bother to answer, he just clutched the doorknob and slammed the door open with a harsh movement, before putting his hands in his pockets and strolling out with his head bent slightly down. Drake thought it was from the thoughts of tomorrow's unavoidable happenings and rolled his silver eyes while he painfully slowly made his way of the room. The smell that roamed was unrecognisable, but he didn't even bother to open a window to let fresh air chase it away.

It didn't hit him that Caine were sour for other reasons, like their extremely dysfunctional relationship.

.

.

"I hate you."

Pure truth. But hate, sometimes, when strong enough, can transferee to something completely different. It's still an emotion, a very strong emotion, and they act on it, because they still _hate _as they clash their bodies _together_ and sins _together_ and moan _together_. Hate is still there, they still despise each other's mere pretence but when they're fucking... It's just tuned down. Well, because they're combined in actions that keeps them chained together.

"I hate you too."

That is what they are convinced themselves of anyway.

.

.

Drake was not a kind person. Neither was he a kind lover. He had just as much romantic instincts as an ice-bear – animals that only comes around when they want to fuck – and was about as cosy and fluffy as a cactus. Safe to say there was not many people who wanted to partake in sexual activity with the fucking ice-bear, but there are always some.

"Drake, go fucking easy," Caine complained as he tangled himself in the pure, white bed-sheets. His hands were bound with that damned handcuff the a certain psycho had lying around on his fucking king-size bedroom. The walls were coloured in a deep crimson colour, as if the room had been sprayed with blood. Caine didn't even need to ask to know that the sick bastard had especially requested that for his own sick amusement. Drake would never ever get a girlfriend _or_ boyfriend. Never ever in a thousand years.

"Don't boss me around, I'm all you got," Drake ordered. He loved to tie up Caine up like this, completely vulnerable and left at the crimson-loving sadist's mercy. He grabbed a rag and harshly shoved into Caine's open mouth, placing a wet kiss on his bottom's temple as the standard sick, sadistic and shark-like grin stretched like an accordion across his face.

"You talk too much," he said as he wiped wet hair away from Caine's features, before getting to work on his pants. The sadist had his kinky ways.

A hiss of excitement escaped him as the only thing that kept their naked bodies from clashing together was only one thin layer of cloth. Drake looked around, eyes wild, and grabbed the little bottle of pink liquid standing at the metallic bureau nearby the bed. Excitement was built into unreachable heights as Drake slid the boxers off, quickly digging his nails into Caine's hips and violently entering him without preparation. Thank god he had enough sense to use lubrication, and even if it helped Drake with having an easier entrance, it also reduced a little of the pain for the bottom.

A small muffled scream tore itself from Caine's throat with the pain, arching his head backwards because of the agony Drake prevented him. Silver eyes was closed in concentration, waiting for his bottom to adjust little before pulling out. Caine squeaked and opened a waiting eye, instructing Drake to go further. Drake didn't need more and motioned himself to thrust himself into Caine once more, eyes swirling with insanity and pleasure.

Unlike with Caine as the top, no words were exchanged during the lusty process, with an exception from the small almost inaudible shrieking Caine delivered when Drake shoved himself in particularly hardly.

The process before Drake had explored him fully was a painful one, but Caine didn't even request Drake to go easy again since the psycho surely had decided his govern opinion of this situation's outcome. He wanted to fuck Caine raw, even if it was going to be a bad experience for the sly little snake's side.

The thoughts wasn't even allowed to wander anymore in Caine's head when Drake hit that spot within him that made his arch his back backwards and press himself deeper into the psychopath, almost begging him to fuck him harder with his pleading and lust-filled hazel eyes. Hatred and authority was forgotten for a moment as the two bodies joined as one in the most pleasurable way possible, and Caine was against his will reminded of why the hell he was doing this in the first place.

In that moment, the sociopathic teenager had no requests of any other treatment.

To say that their bodies joined would be wrong, though. Two people who despises each other on the level Drake and Caine did couldn't possibly _join_, or make love, since there were no love and therefore no love to make.

They were both mentally unstable. Both of them were people no one would have, or so they believed anyway, so why not fuck each other for the fun of it? Apart from the depressing one, this brought warmth to Caine and a dazed smile slid to his lips as Drake planted a starved kiss upon his face.

Their dysfunctional relationship was worth it sometimes.

.

.

Dysfunctional was an understatement.

"I told you make a good bottom Merwin."

"I don't."

"Do so."

"I _don't_."

"You do so."

"I fucking don't."

"You really do."

"Fuck you."

"Heh. Just did. Kinda."

Caine titled his head to the side, adoring how easy he managed to get under the other teenager's skin. He allowed himself a disrespectful snigger as Drake promptly snorted and rolled over on the other face so he was facing the wall with the typical _I-find-unmoving-objects-more-interesting-then-you_ attitude he showed his bed-partner whether he was pissed off. "Aw, you know I didn't mean it like that Drake-y," Caine sung on the vocals, his fingertips tracing the back of Drake's back.

He got a long shiver in response.

.

.

"Mr. Merwin..." _Uncertainness. Fear. Hesitance. Mild disgust._

"Yeah?" _Indifference. Slight frustration. Being does not want to be here._

"Mr. Soren..." _Same feminine voice as the first call. Same person. Same emotions, though not as much hesitance or fear._

"Yes?" _Polite tune. Not blinking. Concentrated. No fear._

"It was been a complain of you two partaking in... some actions." _Humiliation; that the female is the one to has to utter the embarrassing sentence. Disbelief of the meaning or reason. If there is a reason, that is._

"What kind of actions?" _First boy speaking again. Drawling tone. Disrespectful, is showing little interest._

"Well," _shame twists like a vine plant around the stuttered words, _"sexual actions."

"What?" _Both voices spits the questionable word. Strong disbelief. The politeness and disinterest disappear as a leaf on a windy day. It sounds completely genuine._

"That's pure..."

"...bullshit!"

"Of course, of course, I understand, it was what I thought too you see-" _continuous stuttering truthful insurance, frightened that the two boys are going to react vilely to the accusing. _

.

.

"Damn that was close. Who do you think released the rumour?" Caine dwelled out loud as he strolled down the empty corridor accompanied by Drake. His hazel eyes weren't panicked at all, appearance indicating complete difference form the other teenager.

Drake was on the hilt of ripping his hair out. His hands were tangled into his thick and sweaty sand-blonde hair, some sort of twisted mix between frustration, anger and mind-blowing panic showing clear on his features. Not a word escaped his dry throat, his lips sealed against each other as if with super-glue. His left eye also twitched violently as Caine continued, bizarrely not bothered with the experience the two of them had shared a moment before at the teacher's office.

"Perhaps it was one of my fangirls... Y'know, the truly insane ones that is into Japanese cartoon porn and all that shit? We aren't often seen together and when we do we show how much we loathe each other, but girls like that thinks that rivalry between two males indicates buttsex between 'em," Caine explained and gave a shudder, "I won't be surprised if one of them tries to rape me one day..." he mused with a slight smirk on his face, only to find himself shoved into a set of nearby red lockers a moment later.

Sand-paper dry lips clasped up on his own, swallowing his words, ruining his air-way and before Caine could even register what was happening a skilled organ – which by the way was very well-known in this area – made its way into his mouth. Drake's hands had moved up under his shirt, ripping a few buttons loose and pressing his body against Caine's. After a few intense moments of violent tongue-battling later (which Drake undoubtly won) the sadist released his partner, who had to support himself on the wall to not fall down. His back arched from the interaction with the damn lockers.

Caine then fixed his golden tie as if nothing had happened. He sucked in a breath as he noticed the damage Drake had done to his shirt and shook his head with the tragedy. "This is the fourth shirt you've ruined this month Merwin. I've told you before, I'm running up for excuses for my mother to buy me new ones! Give me a warning next time." Drake stared at him in disbelief, which he raised an eyebrow at, "What? Dumbfounded at your own stupidity?"

A metallic 'click' erupted as Drake grit his teeth together. Those mercuric eyes that had burned with passion a minute ago was now filled with hate. Ice-cold hate. "Why the hell are you fucking with me Soren? We almost got caught, and you just speak about those fucking, damned, piece-of shit fangirls-bitches of yours!" The volume rose to unreachable heights at the end of the sentence, his hands shaking and bailed into fists with barely-surpassed anger.

Caine regarded him quietly for a moment, before he bashed his fist against the palm of his other hand. "Aha! I get it. You're jealous!" He smirked like he was better than Drake, crossing his arms.

The sadist felt the blood rush to his cheeks with the copper-haired teenager's statement, not knowing how to respond. How could Caine take this so easy? Their reputation could be torn to pieces with this information out... Then it hit Drake how bad it really was. If it got out... He stared with disbelief at the other male, who was smirking knowingly at him. That smirk, mocking him... Again Drake was reminded why he abhorred Caine Soren. The sick bastard was aware of the dangerous situation, and had calculated out the information until he knew exactly what would happen. That...

"Fucking bastard!" Drake screamed as his fist interacted with Caine's face and took the fucker on surprise. Caine hadn't expected Drake to react with violence, but that was the prize of dealing with someone mentally deranged; you never knew what they were going to do, unluckily. Caine glared up at Drake, watching the sadist hovering over him while glaring daggers trough his skull. "I h-hate you," Drake stammered, taking a step backwards before collapsing on the ground, hiding his head in his hands. "H-Hate you so f-_fucking_ much..."

Caine stared at him for a moment while he rubbed his bruised cheek. He crawled against Drake, who made no signs of moving, and stopped only a few centimetres away from the sadist.

It was as if all the air had gone out of Drake, the shame of not fully thinking trough what the two of them were doing and what consequences it could have for both, but especially Drake, visible on his features. Knowing Caine, the bastard probably had some plan where he made it out as if Drake was the one who started molesting him and blackmailed him into the relationship, the sick fuck.

The only light in the room came from a half-broken light-bulb swinging up-side-down on the ceiling. It caused shadows to fall on Caine's face making it impossible to view his whole face, but you could still see a slight smile – not a smirk – playing on his face.

The copper-haired teen lent forward and put a surprisingly gentle finger under Drake's chin, tilting his face upwards and meeting those silver pools of insanity without fear. Caine placed a butterfly-light kiss on his temple, using the other hand to shove Drake against him with gentleness so the sadist didn't even notice the dominance that reeked off him. He tilted Drake's head up and placed a slow kiss on Drake's lips.

It was something worth remembering. Instead of a kiss symbolizing the eternal fighting that always went on between them, this was soft and without tongues battling for dominance. Drake felt a little surprised at first before he tryingly kissed back, a little unsure what do. He was used to battling, not this slow but surprisingly pleasing romanticism. It didn't take long before Drake's hands had run up Caine's shirt and tangled themselves in messy, cobber-coloured hair. It also felt so incredibly well being handled with such care... Drake actually let Caine dominate him, pressing his back against the cold, white stone floor with fluid movements.

A gasp from both of the two teenagers broke both of them out of the tender situation. Silver met hazel and for a moment – only for a moment – Drake and Caine realised that they'd been on the way to do something unforgettable and gruesome – they wasn't fucking for the pure pleasure of it, but they were on the hilt of _making love_. There were no such thing as _'making love'_ when the two individuals abhorred each other's mere pretence. They didn't love each other, they just loved fucking each other.

Caine almost flew up from Drake, taking a few steps backwards as he cleared his throat. "Excuse me I have important business to attend to," he nodded before walking in the opposite direction, leaving a begrudged Drake – who was just as confused as he was – lying on the floor.

Because apparently, evil overlords with megalomania could experience confusion as well as mentally deranged sadists.

The girl who had released the rumour found herself thrown off the school building the next day, afterwards never being seen at Coates ever again since her parents had decided that even if she'd been formerly bad, she didn't deserve to go to a school with pure monsters.

One of those monsters being a certain Merwin, a sand-blond invalid whose current time-pass was throwing irritating people off buildings. Some voice deep inside his mind clicked and told him he started having a _throw-people-off-or-into-things_ fetish, resemblance much like a certain male at his age dubbed Fearless Leader but Drake ignored it.

Hazel eyes were narrowed in deep concentration, the sound of a pen scribbling down on a piece of paper the only evident noise. Caine Temple currently sat and worked on a school project, but the comfortable silence was soon broken by the sadist that sat on the same desk he were working on.

"Are you finished soon?" came the impatient hiss.

"Be quiet," Caine ordered with lips pressed together in a thin line. Frustration was written all over his features. "I'm trying to finish the project our teacher especially made to me. I've been falling from an A to a B lately."

His step-father was extremely disappointed. Of course, he never even gave Caine a pat on the back or the slightest bit of bragging, but whole-heartedly _expected _him to live up to the Soren family exportations and staying on top of his class. But because he'd spent too much time with a certain Merwin lately in the night he was supposed to spent studying, his grade in math had fallen slightly. To please the teacher – or most of all his father – he'd asked for some extra homework to improve his grades again.

Caine still didn't want to end the deal though.

Drake lent against the wall, growling with the same impatience, which hadn't lessened the slightest because of Caine's answer. "You're the one who requested my pretence tonight anyway. I don't want to stay here and watch you study all night, fucking get on with it or I'll leave."

The copper-haired teen gazed at Drake with eyes that told the psychopath that he was absent from this earth at the very moment, before Caine shook his head at stupidity before him. Not a word escaped his lips, which was turning blue from the pressure of keeping them shut so harshly. The emotions he harboured and things he wanted to do against the sand-blonde teenager at the moment wasn't all filled with gumdrops and ice-cream.

Drake didn't notice the danger signs, merely getting even more furious since he didn't revive a proper answer for his threat. "Next fucking time, be finished. You're such a sorry ass nerd, sitting here studying and demanding that I should stay when I could be using the vulnerable time to beat the shit out of some damn brats that tried to challenge me during class. Fucking failures," Drake retorted angrily to see if he could force some sort of reaction out of Caine. "Just like you."

He huffed shortly afterwards, though exactly three seconds later the only warning he got was the murderous expression on Caine's face and then he found himself thrown trough the room, meeting the wall with a sickening 'thumb' and falling down on the bed. Drake clutched his head, groaning because of the pain and the headache that slowly began to form. Even if the silk sheets was gentle to his skin, it didn't tone down the feeling of his world spinning around him.

Caine regained his standard calm façade in less than six seconds, the rage fading away to nothing, not even remains in form of a frown so you could tell that he had been angered. The regular emotionless calmness engulfed him once more.

"Stop insulting me. I'll put that potty mouth of yours to better uses... And you need a punishment. While I decide what, undress yourself." He'd said all of it while being turned away from Drake, not even caring to look in his direction to see if the psychopath was damaged.

Drake felt a stick of jealousy towards the homework, since it obviously brought more of Caine's attention to it than Drake himself. The whole thing pissed him off and the sadist was about to retort with something when he grimly remembered the main-rule of their deal: The one who's one top decides _everything_, except something that will be clear and visible and sets the relationship in danger for being discovered. Caine wasn't in a good mood either and Drake didn't want to get hurt even more, his head already ached enough.

Then an idea popped up in his head all of a sudden, and after a moment of silence the usual shark-like grin stretched across his face. Drake threw away his jacket first, before lying down on the bed. He drew up his t-shirt sensually slow, and moaned incredibly loudly.

He gleefully noticed that Caine's fingers tightened around the pen and he stopped writing, restraining himself for turning his head away and see what the hell the psycho was doing in his bed. Drake's eyes narrowed but he prevented himself from snapping. He wasn't finished with his teasing yet...

Drake slowly opened his zippers, kicking off his jeans until they reached his ankles. He parted his lips and started slowly massaging himself trough the thin layer the boxers provided. "C-Caine," he panted, hardening by his own hands while the loveable mental images of what he'd do to Caine the next day flashing trough his mind.

That made Caine turn around, staring at Drake with sick interest in his eyes reminding of a mad scientist that had just discovered something never seen before, itching to explore it.

Drake grinned with the reaction, but the derisive grin soon slid of his face, as his fingers disappeared into his boxers. Caine's eyes widened and he reacted fast, jumping up and walking over the wooden floor, before hovering over Drake with hunger in his stare.

He snatched Drake's hand away, instead taking the matter in his own hands, literally.

"You love this don't you?" Caine began while he stroked Drake's manhood with harsh, unforgiving motions. Drake pressed himself further into the madras on sheer instinct, spreading his legs and grinning madly at Caine.

"You're such a slut," the up-coming overlord accused.

"Mhm. But I'm your slut," Drake said with his eyes twinkling with insanity and he started panting again as he came closer to climax, "Your dirty, little, fuckable slut." Pre-come coated Caine's fingers, and he finally gave into the beaming sexual tension almost begging to be loosened up.

Caine tch-ed under his breath, before undressing quickly while Drake whined about Caine leaving his work unfinished. He didn't get any verbal response. As soon as Caine was finished, he dragged down Drake's jeans completely, kicking them off the bed and hovering over his prey. He grabbed each of Drake's naked legs, forcing them apart quickly and admiring the sight. "You're right. You're _my_ slut," Caine stated in a smug tone, causing Drake to roll his eyes, even if petting the sociopath's massive ego was one of his ways of getting him to bed.

"Even if I wanna fuck you now to get it over with, I can't have you screaming for mercy and waking everybody, so, I guess I'll _prepare_ you as usual." Caine allowed himself a small smirk as Drake's whole body tensed.

Drake hated preparation. And he intended to tell Caine exactly that.

He had told Caine it many times in various versions, each with louder volume and more cussing for each time, but the smug snake never really did what he was told. Preparation was for weaklings who couldn't handle pain, in Drake's opinion. And without the pain there's not domination or fighting, there's just love and since there was no love between Caine and Drake, just sexual attachment, the whole reason of sex disappeared. Drake went trough that fucking ritual with Caine, because he didn't see the need. But of course, the current top just _had _to be so fucking... so fucking... _kind_. That word made goosebumps appear on Drake's arms.

"Stop freaking out each time. It's getting old," Caine complained. He grabbed a bottle of lube and coated his fingers with it.

"Shut the- _gah_!" the sentence was cut of abruptly as Caine wiggled a sleek finger into Drake entrance. Drake growled, cursing and snarling all at the same time trying to force the megalomaniac to stop being so 'kind' to him. Caine ignored this however and added finger after finger, stretching up Drake wide enough for his liking. Drake grit his teeth together with the arching from his ass, glaring with murderous intent at his superior.

It didn't last many seconds before Caine pulled them out, smirking down at Drake with ease as the empty feeling roamed in Drake's body once more, before plunging himself in, not intending to fuck the youngest teenager dry.

"Hard and fast, just like you like it, ne, Drakey?" Caine spoke with overwhelming domination, showing the feared Merwin who was in charge. He then dragged himself out, so slowly that Drake started violently clawing at the velvet bed sheets.

He didn't particularly care about the softness of the fabric though, wanting nothing more than to rip Caine's head of for making him such a needy bitch. After some exploration, Caine hit that spot that made Drake see starts and the rest that went from there were up to regular standard. The various insults, demands and retorts were thrown at each other like always, both of them lost within each other. That didn't mean they lost their nature during the session, however.

Drake groaned as he spilled himself, closing his eyes and allowing Caine to adjust a little before he thrust his way out and in again before Drake had even managed to take a new breath. Caine was soon brought to his climax, coming inside Drake who moaned equally as the sociopath's juices covered his thigh. "...Fuck," Caine panted, collapsing on top of Drake as usual.

The person under him wanted to shove him away but didn't find the strength to do so. Caine smirked tiredly as he drew sensual circles on Drake's chest, almost gently teasing the madman's nipples. Drake groaned again and shoved Caine off, not really in the mood for more teasing.

Drake rolled over to the side. Caine stretched his arms over his head, pleased with the outcome even if Drake had rejected his humble request of _more_.

The climax had been great, as always, leaving both of them enjoying the afterglow. Drake was about to move out of bed, like he always did after their sessions, when a hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed his arm. "Hey," Caine began, very slowly with insecurity written all over his face, "Why won't you stay?"

Drake gaped at him for a moment, not completely understanding before trying to appear nonchalant, failing miserably, and crawling back under the deep-violet sheets. Caine followed quickly after. Usually, they slept on each side of the bed as far from each other as possible (unless one of them got, um, _playful_ during night-time) but this seemed to be an unusual one-time-thing-only because their bodies were very near each other.

Perhaps that in night only Drake would allow Caine's head peacefully resting on his chest and perhaps in that night only Caine would allow Drake's fingers to run trough his hair with slow, almost gentle motions.

.

.

An average Friday afternoon. The birds were singing outside, the windows slightly opened and it smelled of spring and nature awakening to get into all sorts of bright, beautiful colours.

"O-Oh Dra~_ke f-f-fu-_ckkkk."

Well well – somebody actually showed true ignorance for the changes outside and instead focused solemnly on each other.

"D-Dammit, why did you – mnghh, not so fast – manage to... _ahh..._ convince that f-f-fucking teacher that I was sick anyway?" Caine guided his fingers over to the mass of sand-blonde hair placed between his legs, harshly tugging at it. The coal-black blindfold tied across his eyes to prevent him from seeing anything did its course – it was supposed to make Caine "feel" more instead of just relaying purely on his sight. The worst was the noises though, the disgusting sucking noises that made Caine shiver in heavenly delight and moan for more.

"Cm op whitch goch ecchuse," Drake replied with a mouth full off, well, Caine.

"Idiot. Take that out when you're speaking."

"What I was saying was," Drake began wiping the irritating semen off the corner of his mouth, "I came up with a good excuse. She believed me straight away."

It was Drake's turn on top today. His inner and outer sadist loving seeing Caine desperately begging him to let him climax, sweating and cursing and generally being the needy little bitch Drake knew he was. Behind the I'm-better-than-you façade, of course, and this wasn't first time the infamous Merwin had managed to strip his ego off, at least for a couple of minutes. "And that excuse was?" Caine asked with impatience again, not completely ignoring the smug look Drake sent him.

"I said you were sick. Terribly ill, actually."

"What about yourself?"

"I said if she didn't let me get free that hour I'd find something sharp and pointy and shove it down her throat during night time," Drake said without blinking. He then smiled with malice, going up from his knees and into a standing position. He harshly shoved Caine down from the desk, his reward being a frustrated "HEY!" but it was ignored, and sat down with his current uke. The sadist started undressing himself, not even bothering to command Caine what to do since he already knew what to do.

The so-called Fearless Leader used his own hands to jerk himself off to granting himself release, trying the hide the natural embarrassment that came automatically when he did such a perverse thing in front of his number one foe; even if that foe was also his fuck-buddy.

It didn't take long before Drake had decided to be lazy and stretched out, Caine sitting on top of him and staring at him with disgust. "I'm not riding you," Caine said sourly.

"Oh? You didn't seem to complain when you did it with me," Drake said cunningly and crossed his arms behind his head for support. He smirked mockingly up at Caine, "Or scared I'm better than you? Pity, thought I would get at least some fight out of ya."

"Shut up!" Caine barked, but never backing down from a challenge.

Several minutes later, he found himself sitting on Drake's dick in a very embarrassing position that he wouldn't have been caught dead in. He panted, using his legs to do all the dirty work, moving his body up and down. He sent a dirty look at Drake, who was smirking up at him with arms behind his head in V-forms. "G-God dammit... I h-h-hate this..." he stammered, a drop of sweat running down from his temple.

"Why?" Drake asked, tone quite jubilant, licking his lips like a hungry animal when he took in the lusty sight before him, not far from climaxing. "'Cos you have to actually _do _stuff for a change? Usually I'm the one who has to prepare, lubricate, fuck and granting your release at the end," he reeled up like it was standard doings, as if the mentioned were as common as brushing your teeth or eating breakfast in the morning.

"You freaking s-sound as if you... d-_don't _enjoy it," Caine gasped out, eyes twitching and pupils threatening to disappear up under the eyelids, making his eyes turn white. His left hand was placed on Caine's side, while the right was wrapped around his own sex and stroking himself to the hilt. He didn't bother to guide Drake in on his prostate now, since the sadistic son of a bitch seemed confident on making Caine's life a living Hell – more than usually anyway – and therefore too much pleasure would eventually result in Drake using it against him.

Drake was about to say something bathing in sarcasm when his body betrayed him and he came hard inside of his sand-blonde uke, eyes momentarily closing in pleasure. For some reason, it took more than thirty seconds – in which Drake was still enjoying the aftermath of his own climax – before Caine brought himself to release, spilling himself over Drake's stomach.

Afterwards he climbed off and went to look for his clothes, Drake still lying on his own bed like a lifeless puppet.

.

.

Drake bent down, holding himself steady by grabbing the sink as he drunk, satisfying his thirst.

He tried to get the taste of Caine out of his mouth, glaring at the sink when the water didn't hide the taste completely. He'd run off before Caine could ask him to share bed with him, he'd felt so awkward last time. Hadn't slept, almost, because frightened that when Caine woke the sadist still be lying there. Instead he'd watched Caine when he was sleeping, which was a little creepy, but Drake still couldn't get over how peaceful the copper-haired teenager looked when he slept. Today he'd said a quick no to the offer, even if he was dead-tired and the pain in his ass refused to lessen.

He turned off the drinking fountain, a little surprised it worked in the middle of the night. He could've sworn that the teachers had said that they saved power with turning it off every night, but either he'd heard wrong or they'd lied. Drake guessed the second option. In the middle of his thinking, Drake also failed to notice the shadows that rose behind him.

The only warning he got was silver glinting dangerously in the light before momentary pain had crashed down on his entire being. As soon as he was on the ground, one of the other guys smashed the damned bat right onto the sore flesh of his legs, afterwards in the stomach, leaving him coughing blood.

He wasn't sure if his legs were broken, but it certainly hurt like a bitch. He knew they had at least some damage done to them since those punks had sneaked up on him from behind – pathetic – and hit him in the back of his head with a damned bat made of hard aluminium.

Fuck. He was cornered. Worse than cornered actually, he was surrounded by three teenagers that all had very large aluminium bats ready to smash his bones into a thousand pieces.

"So Merwin, findin' ourselves in quite a position eh?" the first punk with the ridicules green hair said with a typical bad-guy accent. He patted the hilt of the bat repeatedly against the palm of his hand, shoving that he wanted nothing more than to beat the defenceless person at the ground into mere pieces.

Drake cursed under his breath, trying in vain to stand up.

"Stayin' quiet eh?" the purple-haired one with the fake tattoos plastered all across his ugly face began in a sulky tone. "Renji, why can't we just beat 'im up and get it over with?"

The Renji guy, someone who actually looked remotely normal with long brown hockey hair and Asian features. He started picking his nose as he answered, and Drake drew back his theory about the 'normality', "'Cos we want the fucker to know why we're beatin' him up idiot." He wandered over to Drake, grabbing the sadist's sand-blonde hair and holding him up after it. Drake wasn't small, but he wasn't extremely tall either, and this guy definitely was taller than him, probably older too.

"Not to tough, are ya, ya lil brat?" Renji asked without even raising an eyebrow. Luckily he hadn't his finger in his nose anymore.

"Shut the fuck up!" Drake retorted furiously, fuming with anger. Steam almost rose from his being with the massive rage he carried. He didn't dare move his legs, knowing the pain would increase. The headache didn't help either. "Let go of me," he shouted again, taking use of his arms in a pitiful attempt to strange the punk holding him, "you fucking freak!"

Renji's eyes darkened. In the next second, Drake found himself shoved against the wall, his arms twisted painfully behind his back. _'Will not scream will not scream will not...'_ was the thoughts that surged trough the sadist's mind as he bit his lips until it bleed in an attempt from stopping himself from showing how much pain he really was in.

"Tough guy, ain't cha?" Renji said casually. He was just among the deranged teenagers that went to Coates, so Drake knew situation like this wasn't unusual. But Drake was a sick but sly sadist and managed to win most of the fights with older and younger students. These guys were cowards though, four against one, using bats and sneaky techniques.

"H-Hey, Renji," the green-haired punk began shakily, "We're not gonna kill him right? I mean, I don't want m-murder on my record dude..." He took a step backwards, not wanting to be apart of it. A part of Drake wanted to rip the guy to pieces from backing out from a fight, but then remembered that the fight was about him.

"Oh?" the purple-haired one began again in a sarcastic tone, "I remember clearly that you had a different opinion when our friend Merwin here cut up your girlfriend's face with a couple of scissors because she insulted his sadism."

That made something click for the green-haired punk.

"Fucking kill the bastard," he said grimly, not a trace of regret on his features. It was as if the other punk's words had brought something animalistic want to kill and slaughter in his heart.

"Yeah! Go Renji!"

Drake felt a rush of panic surge trough his body. If they did something major... He'd end up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, and his future murders were impossible when you had to be guided everywhere because your feet didn't work. But that was one of the minor possibilities, he could turn paralysed for the rest of his life.

Renji chewed on his lip. He leaned down and whispered into Drake's ear, so quietly that no one but the sadist could hear, "You're actually kinda cute. Too bad we'll have to mess up that adorable face and sleek body of yours."

Drake's eyes widened. "Wha-"

_Snap!_

The scream was horrible. The kind that tears into your soul with its volume and gruesomeness and makes you wonder how anyone could provide such pain to another human being. It tore from Drake's throat and into the Coates hall, and if they hadn't been in the lowest floor in the entire Coates building people would've definitely heard them.

Drake screamed himself hoarse. There were nothing girly about it at all, but the agony he felt was shared with the world trough the power from his lungs.

They'd broken his right arm.

There was no mistaking it.

The fucking punks had managed to break his arm.

Tears tickled behind his eyelids, and Drake closed his eyes so tightly he could to prevent it from showing. Renji – the person who had did this to him in cold blood – grinned almost sadly and brought a finger up to his face, stroking his eyes almost gently. "See. We made the big bad Merwin cry," he said sarcastically.

"S-Shut up..." Drake managed with a sand-paper dry voice. Renji smiled at him before turning him around, still holding him above the floor, and paying no attention to the pained groans that was released when he held Drake's hand above his head. "Joey. He's all _yours_."

Joey – aka ugly-ass green-haired punk – grinned with bitter malice as he moved towards the sadist, landing a perfect punch right on Drake's left eye. He didn't manage to draw a scream from Drake, but concluded it was because he'd screamed himself hoarse when Renji had broken his arm. "You fucking bastard cut up my girlfriend. You're the one who made her ugly!" he accused as he landed another punch at the sadist's face.

Drake didn't feel regret even after ten hits at the same eye, leaving it red and blood-shot. What he did regret though, was wandering around in the middle of midnight without any weapon to defend himself because he'd just been fucked by a certain Soren. For the first time in his life, Drake actually wished that the fucking bastard was here.

Though it didn't even occur to him that he wanted Caine's help. He just wanted... just wanted Caine to _be_ here as he was beaten up, because... Ah fuck, Drake was getting emotional. Must've been the hit to hit head. Or the lack of sleep. Or the shitty hormones.

"Hey." That one word brought everybody's attention to the opposite side of the room. Not because the word was really attention-drawing, but the voice was easily recognizable. "What are you doing?"

Caine Soren stood in the middle of the hallway, his arms crossed and eyes calm to they kept on flickering to each of the members. Hazel met silver from a brief moment and Drake saw a glimmer of the burning rage that Caine kept so well hidden under the surface but the sadist could see so easily, before Caine tore his gaze away. "I asked you a question," he said dangerously.

Renji let go of Drake, causing the sadist to fall to the floor with a crunch. A foot stuck to his back to keep him there. "The answer is obvious. We're paying Merwin back." He crossed his arms as well, "And what do you want, Soren?" If the disrespecting and low tone was an attempt to make Caine feel humble and small since 'they could crush him with their thumbs' (their words) and it seemed to fail.

"Well, I was randomly passing trough in the area," that was a lie, who the hell went trough their school at midnight? "...and heard a scream." The charming façade was kept up with a calm smile gracing his features.

"Yes, Merwin's quite the screamer, aren't you?" Joey winked at Drake and revived an immediate insult in return. "Feisty kitty," he said, smirking widely, before stepping at Drake's bad arm and twisting his foot back and forth to provide more pain. Drake twisted and shook violently in an attempt to get away, making several pained noises.

The kitty comment caused Caine to lose his temper. "I'd like you to step of him. He's useable to me and I can't have my most trusted henchman running around with only one arm," Caine said, but it didn't come out as smoothly as he tried to. The restrained anger shone trough.

The standard raised eyebrow facial expression entered Renji's face. "Oh? But we don't want that, do we boys?" He revived a violent shake of heads in answer from the two retarded monkeys beside him. "'Sides, you have many other henchmen. Won't hurt cha to lose one."

"Let me rephrase that; Step off Merwin, or else I won't be responsible for my own actions." Caine was staring at them with something that reminded them of ice-cold hate. His lips was pressed into a tight line and a sneer was building on his face.

When none of the three punks made any move to get off him, Caine's temper worsened a lot. In the degree that he wanted to throw someone into a wall, or throw the wall on top of them. Renji only flashed him a toothless smile and pressed his foot down further, gleeful in how he was mocking one of the Coates resident's most feared people, with the other one lying underneath his foot and groaning and cursing in agony. "Whatcha gonna do Soren? Bite us?"

Caine felt jealousy surge trough his body momentarily. Drake belonged to _him_, if not only today, and he was the only one that decided what was going to happen with the sadist.

If he got hurt.

If he got pleasured.

Even if he was going to **die** or not.

It all lay in the palm of his hand, and if someone dared to disturb this fact or even try changing it, they were going to _suffer_.

Caine almost reacted instinctively. He extended his own arms, eyes mad with anger as invisible arms made themselves known, tossing the punks away from Caine's prize. He didn't even look at them when doing so, stare entirely focused on Drake's motionless body hitting the ground.

Several questioning and shocked shouts was heard from the punks lying splattered across the ground like raindrops, on the reverse side of Caine, such as "What the fuck man?", "What was that?" or even "Oh my God, my legs!" Though all was ignored. Even the footsteps that echoed trough the empty hallway.

The copper-haired teenager bent down to Drake, the person – a sick person yes, but still very much a person, even twisting on the floor in agony like a _human_ – he shared a secret and forbidden relationship with.

Caine didn't utter a single thing as his hands ran over the damaged body, looking for where Drake was hurt. Panic was something he didn't feel often, but the untameable feeling that rose in his chest and caused his breathe to quicken, paralyzing him for the standard calmness, could not be mistaken for anything other than raw, ruining panic. When he reached the arm, his panicked fingers didn't become any gentler than Caine was as a person, and Drake winced and curled slowly into a C-position, in a pitiful attempt to get away.

"Fuck off," was the shaky yet resistant demand.

Caine tch-ed, "And here I save you and I don't get other than that in return. Watch your manners." Yet if the sentence seemed mocking and sour, something in Caine's tone caused all anger the sand-blond usually would have felt to vanish into limits easy to restrain.

Silence roamed for a while until Caine stood up, sighing. Drake had yet refused to move. "Your arm is broken. You act like a baby about it, and it's quite clear that it's not often that you get hurt like this."

"Those freaking bastards sneak up on me with fucking weapons-"

He was obviously going to continue to rant about the unfairness, but Caine cut him off, "Life's not fair, is it?" he drawled in a disrespecting tone. He then shook his head upon noticing Drake glaring daggers, and extended a hand. "Oi. You're not planning to lie here all day, are you? If someone comes in and sees you, it's the end of your reputation as the unstoppable psycho." Well, Caine reflected after muttering those words, he was more of a sadistic tormentor than a bully.

Drake stared at the hand like it was some sort of rare alien specie. It didn't seem to help when the upcoming king started shaking in it front of him like he was some kind of deranged animal. In a moment of thoughtlessness and what he considered weakness, he actually grabbed the hand being reached to him and snorted loudly. At least he had enough sense to make sure to keep the damaged arm still.

Even if someone threatened to pour floating iron down his throat, Drake would not willingly admit that he'd ever needed Caine and was now leaning on the sociopathic leader to be steady enough to walk. Neither would he admit that the hits from the aluminium bats had made such dizziness that blurred his vision and made it impossible to walk in a straight line, therefore resulting in him crashing into walls and damaging his hurt arm, but luckily Caine wasn't as much of an idiot and helped him to walk as well.

It looked like quite a humours sight, the psychopath and the sociopath leaning on each other on their way to Connie Temple's, the night-nurse, office.

.

.

Fearless Leader was perhaps not a name that fit the upcoming king entirely. He had fears, like everyone else, even if they were buried deep under a good layer of will and attempted oversight. Caine was human, as weird as it may sound to other that had watched his cold eyes looming over them like a dragon before gobbling up the hero.

The tiny glimmer that had shone when Drake didn't respond – didn't even seem to breathe – in his usually so stoic gaze had caused something to click; even for himself. He no longer trusted himself completely with the psychopath. Not that he trusted his henchman, not at all, but maybe, just maybe, he didn't hate Drake so much that he had stated (several times) that he did. There were no love of any sort, of course, but still... Not complete, raw hate.

And somehow, that scared the now _Fearful_ Leader more than anything.

.

.

Well someone was bound to found out. It was only logical that their relationship came out from the shadows of those who watched the pair extra closely, with hawk-eyes, almost, or those who spent a lot of time with the forbidden couple.

First time someone actually exposed the truth they knew, was when Drake's hand was busy occupying themselves by sneaking into Caine's pants.

"God dammit," Caine hissed like the pissed off snake he was at heart, "We don't even know if this classroom is unoccupied for the moment!" Yet satisfaction surged trough his body as Drake warm fingers wrapped around his already hard sex.

"Shut the hell up Soren. It's my damn turn and I'll do whatever I please, when I please. Besides, calm your tits, I checked. This room isn't used since the fucking biology teacher is at the hospital for broken bones and the substitute isn't coming before Monday, jeeze." He rolled his mercuric eyes, getting into the important doing of removing Caine's clothes.

"How do you know that?" Caine asked trough gritted teeth.

"'Cos I'm the one that put the teacher on the hospital," ivory teeth that could've been taken out for a toothpaste commercial for cheetahs glinted in the mere light from the half-open door. It was still day outside, but the dark-grey and black-dotted curtains was dragged in front of the windows, providing darkness.

Darkness and evil had always been together, Caine mused, as well as crimson and blood. Death and torture. Drake and a chain-saw. ...That last one wasn't completely serious, but it made sense in his head nevertheless. Though Caine was brought back to reality once more as a shallow breath was taken and he bent forward on the desk he was currently pressed against, groaning quickly as an overly-skilled hand caressed his arching manhood. "Nnnghh..."

"That's better," Drake's grin widened as he leant on top of Caine, kissing the side of his neck. Again it glinted in pristine white as the knife-like teeth rubbed against the sensitive skin there, afterwards sucking and licking and nibbling – and generally creating a hell lot of love marks and bites there.

"What... is b-better?" Caine moaned again, Drake was still stroking him trough his pants, and whenever he got close to spilling himself the sadistic son of a bitch slowed down and mercilessly tortured the uke. But he would not beg. Not yet, anyway.

"You being the willing little whore I know you are," Drake purred back but was unexpectedly cut of by a cough that clearly didn't come from the person underneath him. As in slow motion, his head turned around, eyes wide with shock and pale skin even paler. Kind of like a ghost's.

Diana Ladris stood leaning against a wall, a somewhat disgusted but also triumph over the shock she'd managed to bring the usually so stone-faced psycho. In a tone as bored as ever, she announced in a voice far from embarrassed or shocked, "Could you please go to the usual business in another room? I have a book I need in that particular desk's drawer, and I'd like to obtain it before you two fuck on it."

Newly dubbed Fearful Leader stood there gaping at her. The fish metaphor would fit now more than ever before, with Caine's hazel eyes looking ready to pop out of his skull as a fish being dragged out of a hounded meters dept, and mouth opening and closing like a fish searching for plankton that was not there either. Drake smacked him to get some sense into the fish, but didn't succeed with the only noise he managed to produce after the violent smack was a "Mnghtatataaaaah?"

Hands had been pulled out from his boxers before Caine had even noticed, and now the shameful sadist was wiping his hands on his jeans and looking ready to murder.

Caine looked desperate for an explanation his usually so intelligent brain could provide him but none seemed to pop up today and left the soon-to-be youngest overlord in the century empty-handed. "We were... Um... Kinda..."

The chocolate-haired girl smirked like a pleased hyena and crossed her arms, also raising an eyebrow to make her appearance look even more doubting, "Oh please Cainey. Enlighten me with one of your excuses, I'm eager to hear you manage to get out of this one."

That made two rows of teeth clink together and Caine's ego (that could usually be compared to London Eye- no, England itself) decrease three sizes.

"No answer?" Diana's challenging smirk actually _grew_ three sizes into an even more triumphal grin as she noticed his obvious silent discomfort and him being unable to defend his innocence at this. With her being the lovely female she was known to be, she decided to rub it in some more, "It's not so hard to figure out what you have been doing just now, your zipper being pulled down and Merwin ravishing your neck – as the deranged animal we all know he is – and his hand being-"

That was replied with a very polite and also lovely "Shut the fuck up!" from both flustered boys. If they hadn't been red before, they certainly was now, cheeks coloured in bright red, and Diana briefly wondered if they would glow in the dark if she made the curtains go all the way and hide all the cracks of light.

"Though I'm kind of sad that you think I'm that unintelligent; you don't have to be Albert Einstein to figure out what the two of you have been doing when both of you have been disappearing from school, appointments and meetings, always at the same time." She tilted her head to the side like the devious female she was at heart.

"It's not what you think! Drake- I mean Merwin was... Um, helping me with..."

"What, violin classes? And his hand just happened to be shoved down your pants?"

Seriously, Caine could've been used as a red flashlight.

The infamous Merwin tried to regain his stone-face but found it hard with her delivering the facts with such a laid-back attitude. Rage flamed up in his almost non-existent heart, and his eyebrows slowly narrowed down, with the same tempo as his fingers curled into to fists, knuckles straining to burst trough the white skin, "For how fucking long have you known?"

He didn't even need to state what he was talking about. She turned to her nemesis without an inch of fear in her hash look, "For quite some time now actually," she threw in his face with an 'I'm better than you'-hairflip. "But honestly it's not so hard to figure out-"

"How _long_?" There were barely any restrained anger in his voice now, only raw passionate rage that had been grown and tilled like a bizarre flower in his head of some sort, of a lack of better description.

"A few weeks." A fierce and pissed-off Merwin wasn't someone you wanted on the bad side on, even Diana was aware of this. Though he already loathed her, she still didn't want to provoke him unnecessary. God help the one that did.

Caine looked hopeless, still trapped under the sadist's complete bodyweight. "Diana... I'm sorry," was all he managed to press out in a shaky response to all the sarcasm she'd thrown at him. Perhaps his apologizing was for other reasons, though.

"Don't worry about it. I've been aware of that crush of yours diminishing to nothing for quite a while now," the queen of sarcasm with as much confidence as when she started. "Though I'll still be useful to you with you-know-what, Caine." They shared a secret glance, of some sort, and Drake noticed and didn't understand.

"Of course," Caine tried to uphold some of his leader pride even with the embarrassing position he currently was in.

Awkward silence. Drake cleared his throat before almost stomping against the door like a four-year-old throwing a tantrum, harshly shoving Diana to the side and continued into the hallway. He obviously couldn't bear more of the utter embarrassment.

Diana stared at the copper-haired teen left alone for a moment, before asking, "How serious are your relationship? And does he know about... You-know-what?" She showed her hands to indicate what she talked about.

"It's purely sexual," Caine replied, unsure if it was a lie or not. "And no... No, he doesn't." _Yet_, but that was a word that wasn't said out loud even if it hang in the air, not said by human tongues but still being completely audible.

She gave him a quick nod. "Good."

.

.

One time after a night of particularly rough sex, Drake turned over, slightly sleepy and let a hand caress Caine's legs, steadily going higher, ignoring that his semen had run down the same legs under a minute ago. There were not anything tender or romantic about the touch; just that Drake wanted more and intended to take it. The other teenager sneered and wanted nothing of it, though he still shivered a little.

Then Drake decided to break the tension, "How did you take down all those bullies the other day?" The question was not stammered or shaky in any way, just a question of mere wonder. You could hear it on the careless tone.

Frozen for a moment, Caine gazed at him for a long time before answering. "I don't know," he finally replied.

"Oh." Drake moaned because of lack of sleep and turned over, and made the copper-haired leader wonder if he was mad over being cut off. Though when Caine saw his tired expression he thought he understood, only to be proven wrong again, "It's over midnight. It's 'tomorrow'. You're on top now." With that he fell into sleep-land.

.

.

_Silver eyes glimmered. He knew what would happen. He was like a butterfly, with the person before him slowly ripping off his wings and slowly– oh so slowly – ripping away his life, yet he fought, fought all he could, even if he knew it was going to happen. _

"_Caine," he murmured, reaching out a hand. "Please – stop. Don't! We can work this out!"_

_Drake had done something he should not have done. He had hurt Diana. _

_So the bastard hadn't completely forgotten about her. _

_A helpless expression begged him to reconsider. He did not want to die. He did not want to die at all. _

_But this wasn't the time for forgiveness. Caine said nothing as he threw the uranium rod at Drake, it going straight trough his chest and sending him into the cave. In the aftermath, when he had understood his actions, he ground his teeth together. "Sorry," he mouthed, but no one could hear, because his lips was as dry as sandpaper. _

.

.

_"...But right now  
>Everything you want is wrong,<br>And right now  
>All your dreams are waking up,<br>And right now  
>I wish I could follow you<br>To the shores  
>Of freedom,<br>Where no one lives._

_Remember when we first met_  
><em>And everything was still a bet<em>  
><em>In love's game<em>  
><em>You would call; I'd call you back<em>  
><em>And then I'd leave<em>  
><em>A message<em>  
><em>On your answering<em>  
><em>Machine<em>

_But right now_  
><em>Everything is turning blue,<em>  
><em>And right now<em>  
><em>The sun is trying to kill the moon,<em>  
><em>And right now<em>  
><em>I wish I could follow you<em>  
><em>To the shores<em>  
><em>Of freedom,<em>  
><em>Where no one lives<em>

_Freedom_  
><em>Run away tonight<em>  
><em>Freedom, freedom<em>  
><em>Run away<em>  
><em>Run away tonight<em>

_[ Lyrics from: .com/lyrics/j/joseph_arthur/honey_and_the_ ]  
>We're made out of blood and rust<br>Looking for someone to trust  
>Without<br>A fight  
>I think that you came too soon<br>You're the honey and the moon  
>That lights<br>Up my night_

_But right now_  
><em>Everything you want is wrong,<em>  
><em>And right now<em>  
><em>All your dreams are waking up,<em>  
><em>And right now<em>  
><em>I wish that I could follow you<em>  
><em>To the shores<em>  
><em>Of freedom<em>  
><em>Where no one lives<em>

_Freedom_  
><em>Run away tonight<em>  
><em>Freedom freedom<em>  
><em>Run away<em>  
><em>Run away tonight<em>

_We got too much time to kill_  
><em>Like pigeons on my windowsill<em>  
><em>We hang around<em>

_Ever since I've been with you_  
><em>You hold me up<em>  
><em>All the time I'm falling down<em>

_But right now_  
><em>Everything is turning blue,<em>  
><em>And right now<em>  
><em>The sun is trying to kill the moon,<em>  
><em>And right now<em>  
><em>I wish i could follow you<em>  
><em>To the shores<em>  
><em>Of freedom<em>  
><em>Where no one lives<em>

_Freedom_  
><em>Run away tonight<em>  
><em>Freedom freedom<em>  
><em>Run away<em>  
><em>Run away tonight"<em>

Joseph Arthur - Honey And The Moon

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**A/N:** Cut of the first half of the song since that has "love" in it and let's be reasonable, our boys can't feel such. What did you think, happy ending? Idiot. Though I think I got Diana out wrong *sweat drop* But at least an amused teenage girl is better than an angry teenage girl, right?

Leave a review, and also tell me what is best of Draine and Caike!

(Caike wins in my opinion. Draine is good too, but who doesn't love seeing our favourite psycho-boy as the submissive one?)


	13. When It Pours

**Disclaimer: **GONE™ belongs to its rightful owner(s).

**Rating: **Mature

**Warning: **Includes sex between two brothers; incest/twincest, a tad non-con, and use of the old-fashioned bondage. Oh and merely bad language, but that's in almost all my fanfics. Don't like? Then do me a favour and PISS OFF YOU UNIMPORTANT INSECT.

**Beta: **None.

**Type:** Gift oneshot.**  
><strong>

**Genre:** Twincest porn (I'd like FF to put_ that_ as a genre...).

**Pairing:** Cam. Mentions of one-sided Dram – because it's my bloody OTP.

**Summary:** Post-PLAGUE. They were two of a whole. And Caine was going to show his twin-brother just that, with the help of dirty means. Happy birthday JokerGrace! Twincest Cam, as you requested.

**Words:** 3'059

**A/N:** So I, being the lovely friend I am, asked JokerGrace what she wanted for her birthday, and you know what she bloody requests?

Twincest.

Gawd I fucking love her – switch love and fucking and see what you get ;-D That is true, if you removed the "her".

(I was feeling uncreative while writing this and since this isn't an AU there is really limited options. So I did the whole cliché uke-visits-seme-at-night-at-seme's-house-to-fight-ends-with-sex. Bear with me. It's the sex you're here for right?)

Again, if you don't like, FUCK OFF. That goes for the hardcore Caina fangirls also – I made Caine not give a shit about Diana is this one :-D

.

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**When It Pours**

.**  
><strong>

_"I... I hate you. I hate you with all my heart. I hate you more than I've ever hated anybody. I hate you so much that I can barely take it. In fact, I want to go on hating you for the rest of my life, and if our world is destroyed... well, I won't be able to hate you anymore."_

~ Bakura, Yu-Gi-Oh Abridged

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A whisper – that was all it started like. Nothing but a mere whisper, like a breath of the wind near his ear, resulting in a forbidden desire that only grew and grew until it reached inappropriate heights.

Sam dragged his knees up to his chest underneath the covers, wrapping his arms around them in a failed attempt to bring some warmth to his frozen body. You know the feeling you get after running half across the house in your underwear looking for something, and your feet turns fucking cold? Well, this what was the famous hero was struggling with right now.

Though that wasn't the worst thing – because being cold meant being awake, and being awake meant that... Certain thoughts were allowed to wander on their own in his deranged head.

Cursing himself for various reasons, Sam sighed and sat up. He mumbled something inaudible – even to himself – and moaned loudly, clearly showing his body's reaction to the lack of sleep. He went back to half-sleeping, wondering if he had developed an illness such as insomnia or something. It wouldn't be too hard to believe – after all, he was bothered by nightmares all the time.

To have seen so much death before reaching the age of sixteen had left their permanent mental scars. Sam was aware of this. Very aware, actually.

It didn't matter.

No longer managing to keep his opinion to himself, he quickly dressed himself in nothing but a shirt and a pair of used jeans, intending to keep his mind of a certain subject and doing the thing he had promised someone to do for a long time. He hoped it would take his thought from the embarrassing subject his brain kept on reminding him about.

.

.

"You're a fucking idiot! You're not the one that has to look after her! You're not the one that takes responsibility over happenings you yourself has no fucking control over! You're not the one looking after Diana, even if you know very well that she is pregnant!"

A few deep breaths.

"You're a fucking failure, you scum."

Sam stood there, shaking, fingers curled into fists. He was dressed in no more than a simple jeans and a shirt, probably being thrown on when he was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to take out his anger on the responsible for his latest issue.

"You finished?" Caine gazed at him, hands in his pockets. He looked puzzled, not angry nor sad. Then he suddenly smirked, and clear amusement lit up his features, "Do y'know what I think?" He paused for a moment, looking at Sam matter-of-factly, "I think you're jealous 'cos Diana got a ride and you didn't."

That threw the hero off. He stepped backwards in utter shock, disbelief written all over his face. What-? How the hell had Caine figured out his shameful secret – his dreaded hormones? It wasn't his fault! But there was simply no way Caine could have- _"What?"_

"What I said was," Caine began calmly, "that you are most certainly jealous. That you envy Diana, and would have adored to take her place. Envy is one of the seven sins, Sammy, and I don't think you'd do well in Hell. Don't worry though. I'll join you." Caine saw the glimmer of fear in Sam's naïve eyes, and felt a rush of the sensation of pure dominance go trough his body.

But what had he expected? Sam had stormed into Caine's room in the middle of the night, which Caine just happened to be in an odd mood. It was not so odd for him anymore, but to set it straight, he was seriously in the mood for a good fuck.

"I... We... We're brothers! That's _wrong_!" He did not refuse the fact that he'd thought about it, Caine mused as soon as Sam was finished denying the bitter truth.

"We are most certainly not brothers. Haven't you already said that you don't see me as your twin? That since we didn't grow up together, we have no relationship other than two strangers? Well well well – your words come back to hunt you, Sammy."

He stepped towards Sam, and with a flicker of a hand, the hero suddenly flew trough the air and landed right before the bed. Caine pushed him on it, and started fumbling with his own belt of his onyx-black pants.

Anxious, Sam clawed the white material underneath him, but felt the supreme pressure of his brother's supernatural strength press him further into the madras. "Let me go!" Sam was becoming more panicked now; the seriousness of the current situation had finally sunken in completely, resulting in his attempts on escaping becoming far more obnoxious and far less calculated and intelligent.

Still holding him down, making him face the madras, Caine merely smirked with the desperate escape attempts. He crawled on top of Sam, slinky hands travelling down and holding his ass up a bit, allowing him space enough to draw down his twin's zipper.

"Nice thing about you is that you can't get pregnant."

Caine quickly dragged Sam's pants down before he could respond properly, causing his breath to hitch. Snatching some handcuffs from a nearby desk – with the use of his power – he grabbed his new prisoner's hands and clicked them up to the bronzy bed bars. Sam tugged at his restrains, but Caine was sitting on the upper part of his legs and with his arms unable to move, he could not provide any damage to his capturer.

"It would have been easier if you just cooperative. But your pride as a little hero wouldn't let you do that, would it?" Giving a fake sigh, Caine still smirked with sinister amusement when he rubbed himself against Sam just to provoke a violent reaction. Sam twitched, his intakes of oxygen ragged. It glinted in silver from the dim light of the fake moon, the violet curtains dancing in the light night breeze flowing in.

"Fuck you!"

"Oh well. This is fun as well. I never complain with a bit of resistance..."

Caine gave Sam's ass a quick smack for the distraction, dragging down his boxers to be met with a sultry sight he longed to get familiar with. He met a rather negative response, Sam cursing him yet shaking like an aspen leaf, "W-What are you d-doing?"

"I'd thought that would be obvious. Either you're just naïve or a mere idiot." When Caine casually added, "I'd go for a bit of both. What do you think I'm gonna do? Give you freaking violin lessons?" He bent down to Sam's ear, whispering sensually, "I'm gonna dance with you. All night long." Even if his expression was dark, playfulness still spilled out among the hurricane of emotions.

Grabby hands desired more, and he started working on his own pants. "And I'm not even asking." Sam was tugging at the restrains, still not making a noise, teeth grinded so firmly together he bet it would hurt tomorrow. But how did he know that Caine wasn't going to kill him? Then again, the answer was obvious. Sam suddenly experienced the feeling of having another boy's hard-on pressed against his ass, while Caine was busy planting a trail of forbidden kisses along the right side of Sam's neck.

Sam couldn't keep himself from moaning like a bitch.

"You like this don't you?" Caine challenged with a grin, giggling sickly, like some sort of demented school girl. "Bet cha you've had secret desires in the middle of the night when no one's looking." Noticing the ripe-red blush that spread across Sam's cheeks, he added, "It's nothing to be ashamed over. I know exactly how you feel, I was like that too – until I actually did the sin myself. So as your brother, I should know what's best for you."

Feeling himself harden as Caine laid his entire body weight on top of him, rubbing himself against him again, Sam groaned in more secret excitement, then suddenly finding himself flipped over on the madras. His hands were in a painful angle, but Caine didn't seem to care as he spread his legs, admiring the view.

"That didn't take long. A bit of dirty talk and you're as horny as a whore. You really have been bottling it up, haven't you?"

"C-Cut it out Caine," Sam protested weakly, as red as ever. Hazel eyes darted from the arousing sight and up to Sam, and a psychotic grin lit up Caine's features, showing the horrific madness he held buried so deep within, under many chains and locked doors to hide his true self. "Don't!" he argued even more as Caine got ready for the real thing.

Caine seemed thoughtful for a moment, before smirking. "You're right, dear brother of mine, we should do some more foreplay."

Wait-

What? Was he going to do what Sam thought he would? Oh holy hell no...

A warm mouth locked around his mouth, the a lump of copper-coloured hair that made out Caine's head placed in-between Sam's legs. The sensation of someone licking and teasing him to the endless was too much to bear, and he threw his own head backwards in the bed, moaning gently. If he had his hands free he would have tugged at Caine's thick hair (matching his thick head), trying to force him into actually blowing him instead of just teasing him.

Wait. Again.

When did he become so needy?

It was that forbidden lust he had struggled with over the past few weeks, his hormones going overboard and making him think of _that_, the worst being that Caine seemed to be aware over his lack of experience on the sexual area. But then again, Astrid really gave of the good-girl-who-doesn't-sleep-with-guys-until-married vibe.

"Ah, _Caine_," he couldn't hold it in for any longer. He begged his younger twin-brother to finish him off, words quiet and oh so needy, and Caine took that moment to stop. Sam was on the hilt, so the stop resulted in a long wince from him.

"W-Why?"

Caine looked up, eyes meeting Sam's with burning lust, then smirked and suddenly let go, instead flipping the boy around so he was lying face down into the madras.

Mumbling something remotely sensual, Caine remained to their first position. He had brought Sam enough pleasure, now it was time for his own. "Lie still, and try relax," Caine ordered, as he slipped off Sam to return within moments with a bottle of lube.

Coating his fingers with it, he noticed that Sam had turned around and was staring with wide eyes at the pink substance in his hand, making Caine roll his eyes. He forced Sam's head back into the pillow, "There is a reason I'm doing you on your stomach, Sammy – I don't want you screaming and waking the entire neighbourhood."

Sam was about to say something offending that would get muffled by the pillow, but instead gasped as two fingers covered in lubrication was shoved up his ass. He made a muffled sound, about to make an incredibly loud sound when Caine distracted him by adding the third one, his left hand occupying itself with crawling under Sam's naked body. The scream that tore itself from his throat lost nearly all its effect with the lack of noise too, but it whole body shock with pain.

"You need to relax while I'm preparing you," Caine suggested in a surprisingly mild voice, thoughtful for a moment before adding, a level more mischievously, "...virgin boy. I know about your true feelings about this subject. I'm your twin-brother, the only one you have left in this godforsaken world." He kissed Sam's shoulder in assurance that he was speaking the truth, "The only one good enough."

Sam closed his eyes. _'Is it supposed to be good with another dude?'_ There was no turning back now, and he could not keep the embarrassing thoughts from appearing in his head.

Trying to get rid of the tenseness in his body, Sam ground his teeth together as Caine stretched him wide enough for his liking, even turning his head around in an almost painful angle again, so that he could ravish his mouth undisturbed. Caine pulled out, letting go of Sam's mouth and lying on all fours on top of him. He readied himself, lips touching the hot skin on the other boy's back, smeared some lube on his dick and made an entrance.

Sam threw his head back in a immediate response to Caine, who wasted no time allowing Sam to adjust himself but instead focused most on his own pleasure. He had blown Sam first, _it was only fair! _

Rather quickly though, Caine came to the conclusion that Sam would perhaps not let him repeat this (when he was finished with Sam, the idiot would come back begging for more) if the procedure was too agonizing. It was Sam's first time, after all, and right now there wasn't much lust. His tongue hang out his mouth like a dog, and after experimenting with a few angles, he finally managed to hit the prostate.

Groans going over to moans, Sam cried out, all doubts and thoughts vanishing along with his damned intelligence. All he could focus on was the mind-blowing pleasure, toes curling and nails digging into the sheets. "Caine- _Ah_!" was all he could do in this state, pressing himself up again the called one.

Caine smirked knowingly, and sneaked a hand down to wrap around Sam's arching arousal. He was rock hard – Caine's teasing mouth had made wonders, and Sam now craved for release.

It felt so good yet it also hurt, Sam's virginity now non-existent. It was like a drug – the pleasure, the lust – and he needed more. Desperate to achieve, Sam moaned Caine's name again, resulting in feeding his twin shake with please, and feeling how excitement and adrenaline rushed through his own body thanks to the auburn-haired teen's non-verbal compliment.

"Man you're tight," Caine hissed, struggling a bit, however the mockingly pleased smirk was still in place, "Makes me wonder how you could have held back for so long. At least I finally get the answer to a question I've been wondering about."

"W-What?" Sam pressed out between teeth ground together, unaware of how Caine managed to speak properly while still fucking Sam as hard as possible. After a particularly hard thrust, Sam buried his head in the pillow and his eyelids started to twitch, brains blown away along with his pride and self-respect. He was fucking what he saw as an enemy. A sociopathic megalomaniac. A cannibal. His own damned _twin-brother_. And what was worse, he loved each second of it.

"That Merwin didn't rape you the time when he tortured you. God that sadist has been hot for you since he first saw your nice little ass."

That caused Sam to freeze – well, being as still as he could, seeing it was kind of hard with Caine still moving on top of him. "Why would he- Ah, do that again... _Gah_ ...do such a thing?"

"He's an obsessive sadist. Of course he wants to fuck ya, it's only obvious in his ultra deranged mind."

"H-He d-didn't..."

"Probably because he didn't get enough time. Oh well. He won't do it again, after I marked you as mine." Smiling oddly against tanned skin, he licked the earlobe while reminding himself to continue. Sam shivered and was about to reply that he belonged to no one when he felt Caine quicken his pace, his fingers tightening their hold on Sam's manhood. Stroking him slowly, slowing down each time he was on the hilt of release, Caine moaned while he mercilessly thrust himself into Sam's shaking body.

"You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you? I'm the only one g-good enough. We are twins, two of a half, resulting in f-forbidden desires. But this is The FAYZ. There are no rules in the fucking FAYZ," the sentence was muttered so quick with only one intake of air, resulting in Caine gasping afterwards because of the stumble of extremely fast words.

It did not take long until Caine granted his wish, Sam spilling himself into the white bed sheets and Caine following soon after. It was pure bliss for both of them; neon-purple stars flashed across their vision and blended them both for a moment, blurred sight slowly becoming into focus again.

He removed the handcuffs before collapsing down on his brother, slowly falling off. Both were also breathing hard in the exact same moment. Sam turned over on the side, wrapping his arms around himself. Now what? He'd been fucked, marked as Caine's; was the fucker only going to throw him away now, like a used blow up doll only good for one purpose?

He almost choked on nothing in surprise when two arms wrapped around him, Caine dragging the soft white blanket on top of them while nuzzling into Sam's neck. "Mine," he mumbled, "We were whole. We are whole, together."

Sam bit his lip. Having an incestuous relationship with his twin was certainly not going to help his reputation in this twisted world. "Don't worry, we won't tell anyone." Ah, so the bastard could read thoughts now? "This is our secret. Our secret. Us. Alone. No one else can compare." He helped Sam turn around so they were laying face to face, then drawing circles with his index finger on Sam's bare chest in a gentle caress.

"We were born together. That's why we should always be together," Caine explained calmly. "We are both four-bars for a reason. It's because someone choose us to be better than them all."

Not managing to fight back anymore, Sam finally rested his head near Caine's chest, accepting his fate. Perhaps there was some truth in the egoist's words, but it did not matter at the moment. What mattered now was that he was warm and comforted by another human being, and that that human being wanted him nothing but good (it appeared that way anyway). He wrapped his arms Caine's chest, falling asleep there, in a foe's bed.

After the breath of his brother had become steady, Caine grinned with mischief, expression dark. He wiped a few strands of auburn away from Sam's peaceful face. _'Exactly as planned. And now, with your help, big brother of mine, I will take over the whole FAYZ with no one left to stop me.'_ He kissed the bridge of Sam's nose, "_And perhaps a boytoy like you won't be so bad either.'_

Then he started to tie the sleeping four-bar up again – but with far worse intentions this time. He was making himself ready to lock Sam up, then take over The FAYZ. After all, an evil king like himself would never be satisfied with just half.

Half of himself, too.

With Sam here, he could become whole. Even if his half did not want this at all.

.

.

**A/N:** I love surprise evil endings. I tend to use them very often xD Better than cliffies, right? I know Sam was spinning around a lot like a roundabout during this fanfic, but whatever. YOU SPIN MY HEAD RIGHT ROUND RIGHT ROUND...

To JokerGrace:

I love you, my dear beta bitch. I hope I will forever continue to be your beta pimp and that our twisted RP with the mistreatment of uke-Sam will never end. I also hope we once will do what we promised each other, and start a massive fanfic in another more successful fandom xD Hope you'll have a great year, and have some great sex! (Seriously, sometimes I think you need to get laid. Badly.)

With love, Atchair.


	14. Polished

**Disclaimer:** Michael Grant owns Gone™, but I own the plot - and it's quite obvious 'cos I doubt he is able to write something like this.

**Rating:** MA

**Warning: **Het porn. Includes bondage, skimpy outfits and some very light submissive!Caine.

**Beta: **None.

**Type: **Requested oneshot.

**Genre: **FF should just put porn as a genre, seriously, it would make life much easier.

**Pairing:** Caina.

**Summary:** "I'll make it good," she promised, knowing well that he could remove the restrains with his powers, but also thinking that many males had secret desires to be tied up and _used_, idly wondering if Caine had it that way. **  
><strong>

**Word count: **5'448**  
><strong>

**A/N: **Requested by **DreamCather97**, who wanted to see some sorely-needed Caina p0rnz. Hope ya like it!

Electronica is bizarrely good in the background when writing smut. I'd recommend searching up some Røyksopp (international famous band – which happens to be from Norway) music while writing/having sex.

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**Polished**

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"_And for you i keep my legs apart  
>And forget it by my tainted heart<br>And I will never ever be the first  
>To say it's still a game over<br>Ah ah ah  
>I would do it<br>Push the button  
>Pull the trigger<br>Over a mountain  
>Jump off a cliff<br>Cause you know, baby, I love you love you  
>A little bit"<em>

Lykke Li - Little Bit

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'_Who knew the two __people who lived here before had such a creative sex life?'_

Diana appeared blank on the outside, not wasting the ability to move a muscle when she didn't see the point to do so, and her days from cold untouchable ice princess on Coates helped her gain the façade without much strain. Her skeleton-like fingers reached out to grab the bottle of concealer, applying it to her pale skin without much thought for the fact that the owner before her had had a much darker skin tone. It still did its job and covered up those dreadful dark circles under her eyes.

Her discover of a _whorish_ outfit with onyx coloured lace had been... unexpected. Unexpected, but not in the degree of being shocking. After witnessing tentacles grow on fourteen-year-old psychos it took **a lot** to shock her seriously.

It was strange too, to see something that resembled human sin other than wrath, envy, pride and all the others and see a sign – although old – on such a human instinct as... **Lust**, or on Latin luxeria. How weird it was; that an instinct could be a sin in a religion, Diana mused.

The outfit consisted of straps connecting her boots to her tight shorts, all in black. Her upper body was revealed, squeezing the little cleavage she had together to make her pair – she must have shrunk to a pair of lousy As by now, god save her – _appear_ bigger. Too bad it failed a bit. Other than that, straps where placed around her upper body to, but she avoided the gloves, feeling that it would only make the sex appear like it was between two strangers if she used gloves.

She also found it strange how much it actually fit her when she'd tried it in the mirror of her bathroom, though the lack of curves was noticeable. With some light makeup, she could have been mistaken for a new inexperienced porn star that had just learned how to fuck the hard way. Literally. Diana was aware of her own lack of attractiveness because of the rough past months, but with her chocolate hair slowly gaining its natural shine and rich colour, the risqué suit wouldn't look that bad on her... Quite the opposite, in fact.

Maybe she needed something like this for her goal to succeed even more than it already had – she liked to think it, regardless of the doubts lurking in her mind – because she needed an insurance for Caine's commitment to their unsteady oath of his commitment, and knew very well this was hard to get, so what was the oh so grand solution for her problem?

She'd give him more of what he had and shove the forbidden fruit he hungered after into his greedy face. What other methods would work? She hadn't come up with anything, at least not the past few days when the new mission had still been fresh in her mind.

She mentally thanked the woman that had owned this before for not choosing heels – she had seen you could be able to get some high heels in the magazines advertising for these kind of 'prostitute suits' to "please your man" or whatever explanation the dumb thing gave. Diana instead decided to paint her toenails ebony; an easy task for once. The real challenge had yet to come.

One last time she glanced in the mirror to assure herself that she was the prettiest female on the small island – which wasn't hard, since there wasn't exactly many pretty females there. Window confirming that it was night, the fake moonlight streaming in, moon giving Diana one of its approving grins. Not that it bothered her that she saw a mouth in the moon – she must have hallucinated it, this new gruesome world could do this to her.

A nightmare during daytime. That was how it had been these months in the FAYZ.

Just like she wanted to prevent rest of her life from being.

'_But it's soon sunrise,'_ she thought idly, almost bored, _'I need to hurry.'_

The door slammed open – she'd kicked it open in purpose for her entrance to become more dramatic. Standing their in their bed-room, she spotted her target, who was totally unaware of the delicate situation he would soon find himself in.

"Diana have you seen the-" Caine stopped mid-sentence when he'd turned around, drinking in the erotic sight before him with his eyes, cheeks immediately flaming red like if someone had set his face on fire, and his mouth forming a small 'o'.

"...Oi."

After a minute of awkward silence, in which Caine's mind had been repairing itself after getting blown to hundreds of pieces, he gave a weak little wave. "...Hi," he greeted, still as awkward, as if Drake Merwin had just confessed his eternal love for him.

Frowning at his lack of trying-to-shove-her-into-a-wall-and-snog-her-to-death™, it only bringing her irritation instead of relief, Diana recalculated her options. She strolled over to the desk drawers, pretending to be looking for something, even if she wore a really I'm-not-really-looking-for-something outfit. "Hello," she replied, tone and expression as nonchalant as humanly possible in such a situation.

"Um, eh, what's w-with the, um, outfit?" Caine stuttered, itching the back of his head, then running a hand through his hair to occupy his fingers, which obviously desired to go elsewhere and did not give a shit why she was wearing that _lacy_ _thing_.

"Oh, this piece?" She seemed semi-surprised that he asked. Hah. _Seemed_. "I found it and decided to try it on just for fun." It did not look fun, with all those straps.

"Suits you, I guess." His look became calculating now, as to calculate if she had a sinister reason for dressing up so provokingly and calculating whether or not he gave a fuck. The usual amount of confidence and arrogance were still drowned with loads of embarrassment, not being as good at the sexual area (_'Damned hormones!'_) as the manipulate leader area.

"Thanks." Since that didn't go anywhere, Diana tried imitating a scene from some romantic flick she'd seen ages ago, pretending to lose the pen she'd held, and when picking it up, doing so with sexually provocative moments.

His face was slowly turning to its normal colour, the sickly pale one, blood obviously rushing elsewhere.

"Classy," she said and rolled her glinting eyes. Caine cleared his throat in a feeble attempt to collect himself properly, and strolled over to her. Some sort of perverse amusement was evident in his grin.

When they were almost so close that their bodies touched, Caine slowly bent forward, ready to capture her lips in what would be a deep kiss – she could see what he wanted in his dark eyes. She planted a finger on his chest and gently pushed him backwards to keep him from moving too fast.

"What does this mean?" Caine breathed, feeling warmth rush through him, breath getting ragged to keep up with his racing heartbeat. He wasn't grinning anymore, but his anger was not visible either. Curiosity, perhaps? And desire. A whole lot of desire, without so much as an inch of shame. His gaze held hers locked with no plans of showing the key, and unintentionally reminding her how twisted he could be at times. He could be gruesome too to those he wanted to and when he wanted to.

But she had to remind herself that now was not one of those moments. And she was not one of those people. She would never feel small in his pretence, no matter how harsh or murderous he acted towards her.

He had recovered from the shock of seeing her in such an outfit (which could have been stolen from a luxury prostitute's) and no longer caring where exactly she got it; right now taking his usual place as the top, the dominant partner in their sick little relationship, if you could call it a relationship at all.

"Well, I've been thinking a bit..." Diana trailed off, making sure to keep her voice as husky as possible to turn him even more on and not ruin the massive sexual tension. It was wrapped around them like a thick wool blanket used when it was winter, lying in the steamy atmosphere around the two deranged souls.

Two of her fingers 'walked' up his chest, starting to undo the first button of his creamy white shirt. The colour made his skin appear even sickly pale, but she didn't mind.

"You know our deal was that you'll stay against me devoting myself to," she was purring now, and growling at the rs "_you._ And I thought, why not convince you even mo_r_e that you picked the _r_ight choice?"

"I see no wrong in that," Caine agreed with a smirk worthy a demonic tyrant.

No more words were exchanged, just the slow torturous removal of his own shirt, but it made the sensation of her fingers touching his skin even more heaven-like. When the shirt was in a heap on a floor, he guided them both to the king-size bed, very aware that their lips hadn't touched yet. With a capital VERY.

Looking around for a moment as if he had heard something abnormal, his eyes suddenly went wide, then narrowed. Caine pointed at something not visible at the floor, eyes not concentrated on a certain spot but flickering around where he had seen the _something. _

"_Bug_," he growled in a dangerous tone, far from the tone he used when speaking to Diana, giving the invisible person the idea that he was all but amused. He almost spat the name while repeating it, dragging out the vowel this time, "_Buuug_." He had spotted the small disturbance in the air of their bedroom, and was not too cheerful about it, to say at least.

With a flicker of a hand from Caine's part, what followed was a loud shriek and Bug – now visible – flying through the air, the door slamming open just in time for the young boy to get thrown out of the room and roll down the large staircase. No one spared him a second glance.

The door shut gently.

"Let's return to the business we just discussed, shall we?" Caine asked smoothly.

"Most certainly," Diana answered in the same sophisticated yet sly tone, sharing a look of evil understanding with the teen she had claimed to love. They fell into a silence once more as Caine gently _forced _her on the back on their bed, ready to undo the straps.

'_Shame for such an outfit to go off so soon,'_ Diana thought and pushed his hands away, instead reversing their position and promptly ignored his curious look. But he soon shrugged and accepted it, instead placing his arms behind his head with a pleased smirk, ready to 'enjoy the show'. The message was clear – 'please me'. Was that an order or a challenge? Diana liked to think it was the latter, because that made it easier to go through with.

Ignoring her own uncertainly on this area, she started working on his jeans, not entirely pleased that he wasn't as hard as she'd expected. Maybe it needed more...

When the pants flew off, joining the shirt on the floor, she massaged him through the thin material of the boxers, fingers kneading as if she was baking something. Baking? That was something she hadn't done in what felt like years.

Out of a sudden, a _clink! _was heard from her right. She turned to see that a handcuff that had gone unnoticed hang innocently on her side – it had followed with the outfit, untested, she guessed. Smirking like a true ice-princess, she eyed him like a cat eying a mouse before eating it, tail and all.

Caine raised an eyebrow, eyes following hers. He frowned, and shifted a little – her hands was still pressing down at his groin, and against his will, he could feel the warmth from her flesh through the material of his boxers, and felt his erection grow. Diana gave an odd and secretive smile, and reached for the handcuffs.

"What?" he whispered, seemingly _still_ out of breath.

"Let's try something different," she instructed, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He didn't oppose when she clinked the handcuffs around his wrists and tied him to the bedpost, but looked wary about the whole thing. But she did everything so neatly and... He could not help but stare at the curves he had not seen on a long time. Had she done this for him?

Well then he better enjoy it, he decided.

Removing the last piece that prevented him from being completely bare to her, revealing a sight that she had become all too familiar with. Caine turned his head away from her, but it took no more than a few seconds before his eyes returned to her, face flustered. The whole idea of this would leave him vulnerable and helpless in her hands, meaning that she could do whatever she wanted to him. Adrenaline pumped in his veins.

She thought for a moment, deciding what to do, and at the same time observing his body. It had changed quite over the time of starvation and other negativities, resulting in the pretty boy that had wandered around on Coates with a mischievous grin on his face was no longer, the boy lying before her thin and with his cheekbones sunken in.

Diana wasn't the one to openly tell him she loved him again. She had told him it because of a need to not see anymore people killed by his hands, and thus screaming it out had been the only remaining option. It had shocked herself as well, how surprisingly aware she was of the three words, even if stating them had seemed unfamiliar and burnt her tongue.

"I'll make it good," she promised, knowing well that he could remove the restrains with his powers, but also thinking that many males had secret desires to be tied up and _used_, idly wondering if Caine had it that way.

Nodding, Caine swallowed thickly, unsure of how to respond. He was most certainly no pornstar (and had no desire to become one thank you very much) and again, his experience was low. As a fifteen year old boy, he could not keep himself from making an adorable _squeep!_ when she forced his legs apart.

Beginning the slow procedure of winning him over, she made sure he was looking at her the entire time, thereafter letting her tongue – wet with spit – run up his half-hard member. Exhaling through his nose, Caine had some serious issues reducing his increasing heartbeat.

It took no longer before she used common sense to see what he liked the most, sucking, licking, and overall experimenting, watching the results and deciding which one she liked the most. Caine moaned, pressing the back of his head into the madras as her tongue ran over his sensitive head, groaning when she left him hanging. "More," he commanded hoarsely.

"Warn me before you let yourself go." Smiling with what could have been mistaken for pure evilness, Diana tried to take as much as she managed of his fully erect sex into her mouth. The aroma of salt met her, and she became strangely aware that he was leaking precome already. _'So fast? We haven't even started.'_

She guessed he would last for about two rounds. And, of course, still having her womanly pride, she choose to not ponder over how long sheherself would last. That, she left to the gods to decide. If there was anything like that.

Love noises increasing, he tugged at his restrains, absent from this room, going the path of pleasure instead. There was a reason lust was a sin, Caine concluded in the midst of it all, because how would god manage to collect all the people to his will if their mindsets were clouded by something as powerful as this? Shadows swept over his mind once again and he lost himself in a vein of lust, bucking his hips forward to somehow get her to go faster.

"You're more – ah! – eager... t-than usual..." he informed in-between interruptions, voice laced with amusement. He also sounded a tad curious – what was the reason for this odd new attitude? Not that he minded, but as a king, he would always question what happened to prevent a downfall. It wasn't paranoid to doubt Diana, it was common sense. Trust was a fine thing he rarely offered anybody.

Diana rolled her eyes. _'You already know.'_

Ah. He did, didn't he?

Not pondering out loud, he lay back again and kept his breathing steadier than previously and enjoying the true pleasure, which was overriding all else. There was more than once he'd doubted his decision to trade sex (not just any type of sex – whatever he wanted with what considered to be the most beautiful human girl left in the damned FAYZ) against never tyrannize ever again. Truth to be told, though not out loud, Caine wondered if it was worth it.

Regret?

Nah, not fully. Not yet. And not now, not with Diana between his legs and making all sort of delicious noises while shamelessly sucking him off. He had wished this, in his inner perverse boy imagination, and it was perhaps vulgar, but Caine knew it was totally normal for someone on his age. And even if it hadn't, he did not have it in him to give a rat's ass.

She wanted his commitment. He wanted the world. But he also wanted her.

Tough choice.

"Eh... I see... You w-want me..." he delivered smoothly, except for the annoying stops when she decided to sweetly torture him some more, slowing down or stopping completely.

Of course she could not answer, her mouth full of, well, _Caine_, but that did not stop her from staring at him with an unreadable emotion in her eyes. It made him quiver slightly, unsure now, when he could not understand her. Comprehending that she felt something serious for him was one thing, but understanding those emotions? He knew _love_ had murdered before, clouding its victims' heads with an addiction so strong it surpassed all of Gaia's drugs. No, he could not understand love.

However, and perhaps more importantly, he could understand **lust**.

Caine tugged even more at the handcuffs, wanting them off. Now.

She could see that. And sucked harder. Again pleasure dominated him into forgetting what the hell he was supposed to be doing. '_Oh yes. Totally worth it_.'

His eyes were half-lidded owing to the pleasure when she sucked extra hard, and his sight and focus had become blurred. Groaning with need, the ex-tyrant spread his legs wider in another attempt on gaining...

"_More_," he repeated, tone commanding no longer because of the immense pressure her lips pressed against his dick made. "More, more, more!"

The hollows in her cheeks sunk in when she blew him, and this happening only days after his virginity was taken (hers as well but what did details matter?), it did not take much to make him reach orgasm. Eyes fluttering shut because of the pure bliss, he felt all of it drain him and he came hotly into her mouth. Obviously, because of lack of experience, it made Diana choke and she drew away, but that did not ruin the greatness of the aftermath that followed.

"That didn't take too long," she smirked, voice dripping with mockery. Such a quick fuck (because it was considered sex) was not what she wanted. No, it was far from over yet.

"Shut up," he retorted, but he was also smirking, her insults not getting to him when he was in such a state. She could have told him he was an asshole that didn't give a shit about her and he still would've laid there like a fat cat enjoying the sun. Damned cat.

She dried the transparent liquid off the corners of her mouth, face twisted with utter dissatisfaction. He was still lying without commenting upon the sinful act that had just taken place, and it bothered her that she had yet to see a hint of submissiveness from him. It was not because of the taste still lingering in her mouth – that was something she could handle perfectly well – it was because she needed it to make sure he wanted her more than anything.

Proof of their sin glistered, a pearl of fresh come running down to the tip of her chin.

The bed croaked when she crawled forward until they were face to face, and Diana gave a wry grin when Caine croaked one eye open to meet her. "You want more, too," he observed, pink lips quirking upwards, to then look for hers.

She didn't grant his wish of an aftermath kiss, knowing he wouldn't like tasting himself, and instead buried her head in the croak of his neck. He chuckled, but became serious. "Remove the handcuffs," he said, making a move with his head to signalize it.

Diana intended no such thing.

Not yet, anyhow. Instead, she stood up, slowly starting taking the outfit off. He watched with newborn interest, eyes wide. She undid a couple of straps, loosening them and hearing with satisfaction how each _click!_ made Caine's heartbeat fasten, struggling to keep up with his increasing breath. It beat so loud she could hear it. But no matter.

Rubbing herself against him, enjoying the feeling of how the muscles in her thigh clenched with the interact of his already hardening member. She didn't surpass the moaning, just bent a little more down, hands travelling south to guide him to his destination. Caine immediately tried to assist her, but clinking of handcuffs declined this honour. He ground his teeth together, two rows of white _shriiiiik!_'ing against each other, growing more aroused with each passing second and he had nothing to help himself with.

"Impatient bastard," she muttered, and tested him a bit by helping him go between her legs, dark hard flesh rubbing against her own soft one, realising several sounds of irritations from him. "Patience is a virtue," she soothed.

"Then I'm a sinner," he replied breathlessly, scowling at her. Yes, he could go free, but there was something that left him unable to rip them off. Some tiny (big, but kings are never good at admitting details) part of him want- no **needed** this to continue, merely to see what would happen.

Diana noticed.

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back," Caine smirk widened, arrogance shining on aristocrat features.

She let out a breathless little laugh, grinning with mischief, this time allowing him an entrance. "I think I'm ready to fuck you now." Feeling the hardness of him resting against her thigh, she chuckled darkly once more, "and I don't think I even need to ask if you're ready." Caine let out a snigger. Diana pushed herself down without waiting for a verbal response.

Her inner walls almost burned around him and made some sort of pathetic love noise herself, as well as him, making Caine wonder if the sun was trapped inside of her. No, just one sun, ready to be discovered and explored. Also he chuckled, but it came out in a stutter.

"Ha-_hah_."

He felt her inner muscles flex around him, smirking with the knowledge. She adjusted herself properly now, guiding him into finding her star. She gasped in ecstasy when pleasure rode through her when his manhood hit her hypersensitive buddle of nerves.

Shifting as much as he could with his arms bound to the bedpost, Caine grinned with malice when he reached comfortableness, enjoying how _she_ did all the dirty work for once. The hands placed on his chest to steady herself weren't too much of a bother, but they soon slid of his sweaty skin to his sides. He was moving towards her now, making it easier to move for both of them.

Drops of sweat ran from her temple, skin filling in the lacy outfit completely. He also enjoyed the view, resisting the urge to do the same when her head arched backwards with a particularly hard thrust (although it was her fault as much as his) towards her special spot. Scarlet dots blurred her sight, having sex with him in a room only semi-light not changing the way their gazes were locked.

Soon they found their lips moving on own accord, waltzing together accompanied by teeth, tongues, salvia and general wetness, kissing so violently that it should not be called a kiss, because it would ruin the meaning of innocence. They separated for a moment, Caine regaining the smugness, and delivered quite casually while she steadily gained speed, "Y'know, I actually t-thought _you_'d be the one to w-wear lace."

"Dislikin' it?"

"Not at all," he whispered back, hearing the floor creak when the bed shook. Her hands ran over his chest now, and went lower until it helped him thrust from another angle. She was still riding him, seeing herself as dominant although Caine commanded her from time to time if he was dissatisfied with a particular act. So he wasn't a bottom bitch completely.

The familiar warmth burned even more, the tightness of her skin inside around his erection made it impossible to not admire mentally. Here he was, at an island, fucking the girl of his dreams senseless. Or if she was the one fucking him senseless, was something he choose not to think about.

"Actually," he began in a purr, deciding to pay her a compliment, "I ado_r_e it."

"Good to k-know- Gah!"

Now she had become too dominant, he decided. Named after the son of the original sinners, Cain(e) started tugging even harsher, all with a true monster's growl, something even he was surprised that he managed to produce. And with a violent jerk he ripped off the silvery handcuffs with a blend of human strength and a supernatural power, making them fly across the room.

Where they landed was unimportant.

Switching their positions, he finally did what he'd intended in the first place, and fucked her into the madras, watching with sick interest how her fingers curled and took hold of the material beside her. She moaned again, becoming even tighter against him. Inner castle walls feeling so good all around him. The king was in his element.

He didn't really think when he thrust himself in again, harsher this time, just to show her who was boss. He searched for something solid and took a hold of her almost non-existent breasts, the warmth radiating through the lace. He had stopped now, not going any further, pressing himself into a place within her that probably should not have existed. How strange.

Groaning, Caine started undoing the straps that kept him from being completely bare to him, so their naked flesh could interact without stops. It felt good, feeling the little weight in his hands, but it was the _thought _that counted and she seemed to enjoy it mindlessly. There were no more bitching and pissing with him, words lost.

Hell, they enjoyed it more than they should have done. But for two souls on a lonely island – accompanied by a snotty brat and a seemingly forever-menstruating (the supermassive mood changes voted for this anyway) monster-maker – this seemed like a Heaven. Or a Hell.

Whatever fit the situation.

And with all the sinning going on in this very room, it was very much a Hell.

An utterly _lovely_ Hell.

"Deeper," she commanded as he started moving again. "_Faster_!"

Cliché maybe, but he didn't mind much.

"Diana," he breathed, "Come with me."

That was all it took. Finally clenching together around him so hard he had a serious problem exhaling enough to not explode his own lungs, triggering his own orgasm as well. One last thrust, and he emptied his juices completely in her, feeling as his will to live left with his sperm. She cried out while coming, but muffling the sound by forcing him into a long kiss filled with want and desire and need and lust.

He soon collapsed on top of her, not managing to keep focused on anything anymore. He rolled off when he had control on his body afterwards, staring up on the ceiling for a while and waiting for his brain to return from its trip to outer space. It took a while before his sight returned to normal as well, the blurriness bothering him. Caine looked to the side, the action causing him to wince, to see Diana lying in the exact same position. The outfit was almost half-ripped off her, only hanging from her stomach where some of the straps had gone undone.

When his voice returned from its vacation in Hawaii, he managed to gasp out something, something that just came without him thinking over the words, "That was fucking amazing."

It took a few seconds before she replied, tone so smug as if she had achieved a mission given by her birth, or taken The Ring to Mordor or something, "Yeah. It is."

"Is?"

"You think... this... was the first and last time?" she gave a cheeky grin. With some strain, she removed rest of the skimpy outfit and slipped under the white covers, helping him do so as well. She had no plans of dressing, not wanting to ruin the naked aftermath time of pure unlimited sexiness.

Both Caine's eyebrows flew up in shock. "You mean...?"

She sighed and lay down. "Yup. As long as you stay, I'll give you unlimited _me_. That was the deal, remember?"

"I can't recall that skimpy outfits was a part of the deal."

"Well, I say it was."

Caine wrapped his arms around her in a protective embrace, but she pushed him away. He sighed and started playing with her hair, their faces a few centimetres apart. "Hate it when you do that."

"Do what, refuse to let you press my face into your chest so I can't breathe?"

"No." He frowned, "I hate it when you use your woman institution to suddenly change our deal, then speak about it as if it has always been that way and somehow manage to convince me that it's the truth."

Diana resisted the increasing urge to slap him, and instead choose to kiss his nose to sooth him down. "But you like it right? And I want you to stay."

"Why?" he asked, "There are so much more out there; you could rule by my side as a true q-" she pressed a finger against his lips and shh-ed him. The pouting expression he wore increased.

"This queen has seen to many battles and chosen to retire at young age."

"Queens really don't do much work-" again he was silenced – this time she grabbed hold of his nose and squeezed, at the same time shaking his head back and forth.

"Queens have to sit through their kings being babies and complaining about everything from not getting enough uranium to not getting enough ass to not getting enough loyal henchmen. I have sat through it all and it's not too pretty when you have one of your random mood swings moments, much worse than a PMSing woman. Been there Cainey."

"That's not true." Now he felt like finding an emo corner and go mope there for a couple of hours.

"You're an idiot."

"I'm a majestic idiot."

"Still an idiot."

"There's a difference!"

"No there isn't."

"Yes there is!"

"Just shut up Caine."

"Okay."

She kissed the tip of his nose, then turning around, reasoning herself with the fact that his breath wasn't of the best. A hand slipped around her waist and pulled her closer, her body curling to fit into his just perfectly. He brought her warmth, and it wasn't that uncomfortable, even with their obvious bareness.

When her breath's tempo reduced to one who had to be sleeping, he started dwelling a bit. But... He knew what he really wanted, if such an opportunity came. Maybe she would learn to like it, instead of the fail attempt at ruling Perdido Beach do it for real this time, which a much harder iron hand? She would be queen... And they'd continue this, each night if she wanted to. Of course she would like that.

Right?

But Caine fell asleep soon after, throwing the thoughts away. It wasn't like an opportunity like that would erupt anyway. If such a time came... He would think over it then. Now he felt quite well with Diana sleeping against his chest, and wrapped arms around her before wandering off to the land of sleep.

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**A/N: **The "losing pen" thing is called 'Bend And Snap' (gay!Sam: "works every time!") and is from the movie _Legally Blonde_.


	15. El Tango De Roxanne

**Disclaimer:** Too damn poor to be owning anything.

**Rated:** T - use of alcohol, mentions of prostitution and references to the sexual nature. Not enough to be rated mature.

**Beta:** None... I'm forever alone ;_;

**Type: **Little drabble gift for **SirenShadow.**

**Genre: **Drama, light romance.**  
><strong>

**Pairing:** Vague DrakexDianaxCaine.

**Summary:** AU. Two men, one woman, tangled deep within a dangerous game which drags all three down in separate ways. And they love each moment of it. "Yes, jealousy... Will drive you... mad!" Songfic. DrakexDianaxCaine.

**Word ****count: **3000+? Honestly have no idea today.**  
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**A/N:** Cozy. Dear twinwife (twins of souls and RP-partners forever) of mine, thanks for allowing me to rant and babble with moi for hours via PMs, and ever-so-interested partaking in our pr0nz RPs that oozes of sexiness. Love ya. You're the one that made me write this since your favourite film is _Moulin __Rouge!_ (this song is from that movie)

Song is _El Tango De Roxanne_ by Ewan McGregor, Jacek Koman, Jose Feliciano.

EDIT: Some of the words got stuck together and when I try fix them nothing happens, so yeah... Sorry.

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**El**** Tango****De****Roxanne**

(Spoken)

We have a dance!  
>In the brothels of Buenos Aries<br>Tells the story  
>Of a prostitute.<br>And a man... who falls in love...  
>With her.<p>

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First there is desire  
>Then... passion!<br>Then... suspicion!  
>Jealousy! Anger! Betrayal!<br>Where love is for the highest bidder,  
>There can be no trust!<br>Without trust,  
>There is no love!<br>Jealousy.

.

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Yes, jealousy...  
>Will drive you... <em>mad!<em>

The ballroom was filled with light. Light, laughter, happiness, and some drunk bawling, since this were one of the finer parties that one of the nicer gentlemen had thrown for celebrating who-knows-what. Everybody had forgotten what it was, even the gentleman himself.

You could tell because the odour of alcohol laid thickly in the air, though most has yet to notice seeing there is also alcohol running trough the their, or most of the guests', veins. None commented on it, and the atmosphere is well seeing as the party has just started and new-married couples (which had yet to hate each other, but it would come sooner or later) was just making their way to the dance floor, ready to waltz quietly without any disturbance and enjoy the calm music. Perhaps for the ladies the highlight of the party is to snap up gossip from the women that waltz with them as they switch men regularly.

Dream on. Three people, all with major differences in both personalities and appearances, intended to break this, some of them unintentional some not.

_Roxanne_

The unnatural noise of two pair of high-heels _clicking!_ as they hit the wooden floor repeatedly, echoing throughout the large hall and managing to capture everybody's attention. Loud violins that performed in the background did not lessen on the volume because of the interruption, even if the clever musicians' gazes were laid heavily on the attention-drawer, waiting for an explanation or apology, a physical or verbal one.

The female did not mind the staring, however, and strolled across the empty room directly against her newest victim.

But if her victim saw himself as a victim was uncertain, because of those mica-coloured eyes that twinkled intensely as he watched her every move, never tearing his gaze away from hers.

A hand came to sight, the palm outstretched and right in front of him. It was wrong. Both knew. It was improper that the a woman – of all possible things – asked a man out for a dance, it was supposed to be reverse! They weren't supposed to take part in such a shameless act but either of them couldn't seem to care.

"I'll take this dance, with you, Merwin."

No marks of a question in her voice whatsoever.

_You don't have to put on that red light_

He didn't even need to answer, the knowing grin full of mischief on his face spoke as an agreement in her 'offer'. He took her hand, not gently – he was never, never gentle – and rose from his seat. Ignorant for the horrendous stares he revived from the friends and family around him. He only saw her; eyes for her only.

The tall sand-blonde man wiped a few strands of hair away from his temple.

Evil was glimmering nonstop in his eyes.

Regardless of her reputation, her sins, her current life as a known (and skilled) seductress of men in all ages, he still led her to the dance floor and signalized to the musicians to pump up the beat. The conductor with grizzled hair concealed his cunning smile at the young couple's demand, and he fulfilled the stranger's quest regardless of the opinion of the people surrounding him.

_Walk the streets for money  
><em>

He dragged her sleek body close to his own just in tact when a loud and sharp shriek erupts from the violin, extreme skill for prevent her destined fall and he took the lead. His breath his warm, but then again, his outer look and humane appearance was the only thing that was, well, _humane_about him.

His eyes was dead and drained from everything so-called goodness. And let us not forgot that his soul was so dreadfully cold on the inside that if there was a Heaven and a Hell out there, he'd fallen to the deepest layer without St. Peter having a second thought about the dreadful monster's (that must have taken the body of a human) occupation in the afterlife.

"Ladris," Drake's silvery – as silvery as his eyes – whisper was so terrifyingly near to her ear, seeing as his head is leant on her shoulder in a traditional manner, which she almost gave a hint of weakness because of. But she managed to keep her façade smug and cold. The violin shirked again and he took the lead.

He was a sinner as well. It was so dreadfully clear to her now, and she loved every single moment of their interaction because she could be herself. Her arrogant, loud-mouthed, sly-as-a-snake self who knew how to manipulate a man into eating the earth she stood on with a flicker of a hand and a charming smile.

_You don't care if it's wrong or if it is right_

"Merwin," Diana responded with the arrogant tone of hers not even bothering to add the phrase in front of his name to indicate that he was married. His given name was Drake Merwin and she intended to call him that, not the pathetic name of his even more pathetic wife. "Fancy spotting you here. I didn't believe my own eyes when I noticed that your wife had allowed you to leave the mansion where she keeps she locked up." She's stepping on dangerous territory like a mine field where the mines are his vile rage that can detonate and annihilate her any time.

But Drake was in an oddly good mood. The grin still shone through on his facial expression, uninterrupted by her insult. "Yes yes," he began in a drawling voice, "I was quite shocked myself when I discovered that such a whore like yourself dared to show your face up at a new party after your last pair of scandals." Ivory teeth twinkled with mischief in the light provided from the crystal-light in the ceiling.

_Roxanne_

A millionth part of one second didn't manage to pass as he dragged her close to him, harsher and more violent this time but yet managed to appear calm and calculated. Attention was on them, they know, and they embraced it. But it was hard spotting them seeing as the couples that had previously danced to calm ballad music are now throwing themselves in the dangerous ocean and devious dance that is Tango.

Drake almost dragged her across the room but somehow she managed to keep her pride and followed his quick footsteps without showing a hint of clumsiness.

They're hid from sight because of the large dresses that everybody's wearing – which is another outstanding thing about Diana Ladris, she has a sleek coal-coloured dress that matches her dark-chestnut hair, body and black soul perfectly. Abnormal from everybody else. But then again, she was a very abnormal person.

_You don't have to wear that dress tonight_

"You're a good dancer. Shame your looks isn't something I can compliment you with." The chocolate-haired female gave him a fake innocent smile, tilting her head to the side sweetly. How she managed to appear innocent and devious at the same time were a mystery to her current partner. "Or anything else for that matter."

Drake didn't love another beings. Love for another _human_ was an emotion which did not exist within his deranged mind, as if he'd been born without it. No, not if, he really _was_born without it. His heart held jealousy, anger, betrayal, and hate that run bone-deep, which you wouldn't want to have it directed against you. He could put his hand to his heart and say without blinking that he loathed Diana Ladris but he loved the sick little game the two of them currently were involved in.

"I could say the same to you. Though I'll have to admit that you're beautiful – on the outside, because on the inside you're just as rotten and soiled as one of those dirty sluts living on the street corners flirting with ugly old farts to get money to live."

"I see you have _high_ opinions of me. How nice. But then again," her sleek finger caressed his lips almost tenderly, "you're not an angel on the inside either, are you? From the people I've talked mean quite the opposite."

_Roxanne_

"Perhaps."

Perhaps she loved him. Perhaps she didn't. He didn't care. Not the slightest. And even when he leant forward and kissed her hungrily on the lips like a starved animal – releasing several gasps of horror and shock from the audience – he still didn't care.

She kissed her back without a second thought, a smirk as pleased as him with the reaction she drew from the people surrounding them – some of disgust or even jealousy.

Her alluring eyes which could've been made of floating warm chocolate met his mercurial pools of pure enchanting madness and for a moment, she spotted something as primitive as raw want. She knew what he wanted, but had no intention of giving it to him.

Still, Drake had yet to become under her spell.

_You don't have to sell your body to the night_

The music pounded in their ears, the violin almost drowning out every single sound..

But none of the two demons on the dance floor failed to notice a third demon – oh no no no; a true _devil_– entering. It was as if when he entered he managed to diminish the noise, the light, everything remotely attention-drawing and bringing it all to himself as if someone had pointed a headlight on him. Though he did not care – he just wandered forward, expression much like a rock's.

Even when he extended a hand and politely asked a beautiful female to dance, but still not even paying attention to her, his stare was fixed on the tango-dancing couple, much like everybody else's in the room. Though it was something piercing about his stare, the way he drank in the sight, the way he stared at Diana Ladris with hatred- no, not hatred, something very different yet-

Ah. It was envy.

'_How __obvious __of __you, __Cainey__,__'_ Drake Merwin finished his own musings, smirking, eyes travelling to the curious female in front of him.

_His eyes upon your face_

It did not take long before the flesh of the devil and the female demon's touched, their elbows touching without Caine casting a second look in her direction, nor delivering an apology. Drake's smirk slid of his face – was he trying to steal a woman he had just claimed as his own? At least now, at the dance floor, this night, he intended that she was his.

Caine Soren, no matter how rich, arrogant or pompous, would not change that. Drake could wish it, at least.

And he could drag Diana away, watching how Caine's envy rose like a steam around him. He would dance with Diana, until there was nothing left of Caine's ability to keep all those emotions inside of him and the primitive want to unleash the monster he was at heart. If Caine had something like that anyway. He smiled when he looked at Diana, silently thanking her for bringing her such a gift. He would try mock Caine even more with this.

Drake then started noticing how the place around them was getting crowded. That, did not make his mood any better.

_His hand upon your hand_

Growling quietly in disagreement when unimportant individuals started to join them on the dance floor – the beautiful yet stupid dance-partner of Soren obviously having called them, the pretence of three powerful personalities making her feel engulfed by loneliness and despair – Drake took a chance and dragged Diana away from the bastard again, this time swinging her across the floor and kissing her once again, all while his feet moved in rhythmic motions to the increasing music all around them.

Diana gave an amused raised eyebrow at his attempt to keep her from falling out of his grasp, but did allow his entrance when he kissed her once again, more deeply this time. Sliding his tongue across her bottom lip, she was delighted to push him away once again just to tease him and keeping him _desiring_her.

His hands tightened around hers, showing signs of desire for possession as well.

_His lips caress your skin_

Drake felt the steam rise as he changed plans, bending over her so Diana had to bend backwards again, slowly, feet still. He planted a trail of kisses down the side of her neck, tasting warm milk-like skin under his lips, and made sure to keep her head (although upside-down) in the direction of Caine. Mocking him. Giving Caine his middle finger to show his amount of respect.

The devil did not like this, you could see at the way he forced his partner in the direction of the teasing couple, making sure to stay close when Drake guided Diana further away. This was becoming annoying! Drake grit his teeth together, forcing Diana into him, placing her head on his shoulder. She was still expressionless, but the eyes, the windows to the soul... She was amused, by both of them, façade – that she undoubtly had been practised since the age of three – still unmoving.

Although mentally ill, Drake did smell good. It reminded her off fire and another strong odour she had not smelled – _tasted_ – in years. Paprika? How odd yet strangely, it made him all much attractive. He was handsome, but certainly no god of beauty like the man with the copper hair strolling towards them. Not that she would ever tell him that – she had some pride.

'_Pride? Another sin. How funny.'_

She gave a short little laugh, in that few seconds were Drake held her tightly against her, moving with the tempo. His heart beat a tad more than usual, and she could feel her curves pressing into his broad chest – but it was not because of that his exhaling was kind of ragged, it was because of Caine gazing at them in the moment where Drake smirked and gave him his middle finger, hand travelling south on Diana's body.

'_All mine.'_

_It's more than I can stand_

Caine narrowed his eyes, the provoking finally breaking his careful shields of masks. He then did something rational, went up to Drake and asked Diana boldly if she wanted this dance – apologizing to Drake for 'taking his lady' (although smug when saying so) – thereafter taking her with him across the room.

Drake was left there standing, mouth slightly open wondering what the hell had happened.

His motions were certainly more fluid and the fingers locked with hers were gentler, that was for sure, Diana decided, but let him take the lead. Just because you were a woman and expected to be the submissive partner of your relationship, that didn't mean that you couldn't sneak in some hidden dominance here and there.

"I'm Caine," he greeted.

"I know," she breathed.

_(Roxanne)  
>Why does my heart cry?<em>

When he almost sent her flying backwards, her face glinted with a devil's amusement and she let herself go further away from him, only to land in Drake's awaiting arms once more. Before Drake could note it and feel some sort of arrogance because of her decision, she'd pried his arms away from her and gone in the direction of Caine again, though still making sure to keep at a small distance.

Caine flashed a grin at the web he let himself get tangled into – he'd always enjoyed a good challenge. Diana was a challenge, he knew, since he had heard things and seen the woman herself in action when luring men like a black widow.

He reached out again, ready to get her.

The tango had turned into more than just a dance now, all three of them knew.

_(Roxanne)  
>Feelings I can't fight<em>

Caine had been in love with her for a long time now. He just hadn't realized.

It just did not occur to him that he, Caine Soren, the heritage to the long line of rich and well-respected Soren could fall so low of falling in love with a mere woman without a background that would influence his family's greatness.

This was one of the main reasons for all the venomous glares Diana received when dancing with him. And it was also one of the reason of why he liked her – she did not care about it. Not one tiny bit.

When Drake had taken her hand, held her eyes, kissed her on a mouth which Caine considered to be his, something had clicked in the sociopathic gentleman's mind. He knew how much of a bastard Drake could be sometimes – it almost hurt to be in the same room as him, for reasons Caine could not comprehend. Was it that he was unintelligent? Perhaps at some areas, but there was no idiocy in that grin he flashed when turning to Caine and flashing the infamous and bone-chilling shark-grin most victims saw before they got seriously injured. Caine had no plans of getting injured the slightest, thank you very much.

Diana was his, anyway. So much was clear.

_You're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me_

A power struggle – the desire to dominate another human being, it was that lust that burnt in both their lungs, making them itch to howl out and claim their ownership, both of them. the two were alike, even if they didn't want to admit it.

Diana could walk away unharmed, she knew. If she continued to dance away, swinging herself in a tornado of cloth and bright colours, they would lose interest. So she kept them close. No plans of walking away, just yet, even if she could.

She loved their little game. It felt like it had happened before... In another life, another past, another future, they had danced. Or would dance.

Because maybe the dancing wasn't just physical.

Dancing with their hearts.

If they had something like that.

_And please believe me when I say I love you_

Caine did not mutter the words, but,

-when she stopped with him, smiling, lips touching his, before pulling away once again...

-when the music became so intense most where stopping; their tired bodies forcing them to stop...

-when he smiled back and followed...

...he muttered them in his heart. And he would continue to do that.

_Yo que te quiero tanto, qué voy ha hacer  
>(I love you so, do I have to do)<em>

_Me__dejaste,__ me__dejaste  
><em>_(__You__left__me__,__left__me)_

_En__un__tango  
><em>_(__In__a__tango)_

_En el alma se me fue  
>(In the soul I was)<em>

_Se__me__fue__el__corazon  
><em>_(__I__ was __the__ heart)_

_Ya__no__tengo__ganas__de__vivir  
><em>_(__I__ have__ no__ desire __to__ live)_

_Porque no te puedo convencer  
>(Because I can not convince)<em>

_Que no te vendas Roxanne_

_(Do__ not __sell__ yourself__ Roxanne)_

(Roxanne)  
><em>Why does<em>_ my__ heart __cry?  
>(Roxanne)<br>Feelings __I __can't __fight  
>(Roxanne)<br>You __don't __have __to __put __on__ that__ red__ light  
>Roxanne<br>(Roxanne)  
>(Roxanne)<em>


	16. No More

**Disclaimer:** No owning anythin' here.

**Rated:** K+

**Beta:** None.

**Type:**Drabble, semi-songfic.

**Genre:**Tragedy.

**Pairing:** Tragic!Dram.

**Summary:** "& You don't wear my chains…" He lost him.

**Word****count:**595

**A/N:** Nothing to say. I'm a tad sad. Personal things.

Song is Augustana ~ "Boston".

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**No ****More**

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_You__ don__'__t__ know __me_

Fear, as Drake discovered what a gruesome set of impacts his tentacle had made upon the pale flesh there.

He stood over him, just staring, mindless almost, unable to comprehend what had just happened in less than three minutes ago, when he'd just followed orders. His lips formed the nickname, cried it out even, but with the tiniest hint of something else than the hatred he always clung to, sinking down in the sand as he stepped towards Sam.

The auburn-haired boy rose. He said nothing, but broken blue orbs said it all. Tormented, he turned towards Drake. He just stood there for a moment, ignoring the stinging pain in his back. That wasn't the thing that hurt the most, no, it was the knowledge that Drake had chosen pride over him. He'd _acted_ on orders to not lower himself to the standards of caring for another human being.

_And__ you__ don__'__t __even __care_

Drake reached out, trying to say something, but Sam drew back, frightened. He didn't understand at first – why was Sam so terrified of him? Drake hadn't done anything else than what he had to do to obtain the secrecy around their filthy little relationship.

Instead of talking, Sam just went towards his bloodied shirt – torn off in a moment of blood rage – and said nothing as he dressed up in it. Then he gave Drake one last miserable glance before he continued to back off, turning around to walk away – not running, merely walking.

Drake wanted to run after him and knock some sense in him, but his legs wouldn't move and he wasn't able to do anything. Anything but mutter the word _why?_ over and over again. Of each repetition, Sam trembled even more and more, but he'd already decided.

_Oh__ yeah_

He knew why Drake had done it, and that it was necessary – but he didn't manage it. Didn't even to attempt to, hide the feeling of betrayal. Deep inside, deep, deep inside, he'd wanted Drake to bid defiance to Caine and not whipped Sam on command. It would perhaps have killed both of them, but Sam couldn't help it, he still felt just as sad as if Drake had chosen someone else over him, and that fact made it hurt more than anything.

His eyes were blood-short and he cried silent tears of shame, but refused to turn around.

He just left Drake there, with the knowledge of what he'd done. Drake did understand why Sam left, but at the same time, he didn't. he hadn't... He hadn't done anything wrong! But still, he could not move a mere inch. If it was because of Sam's crushed position as he wandered into the desert, or the fresh regret burning in Drake's mind, he was not sure of.

_You__ don__'__t __know__ me_

What sort of responsibility came with being a hero four-bar? Staying alive. Sam could've died today, in the sand, in a pool of his own blood if Drake's mental illness had clouded his mind. If one of those moments had occurred, he'd forgotten that the twisted macabre kid on the ground was his own boyfriend, although covered in red, and continued on till he saw ivory bone.

Many would've died then, no one left to save them from the self-proclaimed king's plans for despotic tyranny. Many children; kids that had yet to become something, would die, eventually. The FAYZ wasn't a suited place for toddlers. Actually, it wasn't a suited place for anyone at all. Drake would've never met Sam, and they'd never been tangled together in this mess of a situation.

Drake reached out a hand, crying out. He'd broken his heart. He'd lost Sam.

_And__ you __don__'__t__ wear__ my__ chains_


	17. Special: Mass Collection Of Random Jokes

**D****isclaimer:** For Christ's sake do you need to borrow another brain?

**A/N****:** So _MASS COLLECTION OF RANDOM JOKES_ was moved here today, like I'd predicted, and I took the best of those onshots. If you dunno know what that is, it was basically me just uploading the sickest excuses for jokes and you-think-it's-something-but-it's-really-not -.-' Enjoy~! First one is what happened when I went to Greece for a week and me and JokerGrace gave each other each other's phone numbers... This happened and a large bill that made her mom shout on her and my mom roll her eyes xD We RP'd as Caine and Diana, me as Caine and her as Diana.

Rest of the stories are just crap. Enjoy~! For each new story there's a bold title.

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**MASS COLLECTION OF RANDOM JOKES:**

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**Letter Time**

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'...My legs look better than yours anyway.' -Diana

'No. because I at least shave them, which is more than you do, Miss. Gorilla Feet." -Caine

'And show off your silky smooth legs at every opportunity, whore.' -Diana

'At least I _have _admirers and won't end up like an old cat-lady like a certain someone.' -Caine

'Admires? Like who, Patrick?' -Diana

'More than you anyway.' -Caine

'You wish. Name one.' -Diana

'Gah, there's so many... Merwin.' -Caine

'But Merwin said he wanted me!' -Diana

'OMG! Merwin is into that sort of thing... How... Bizarre.' -Caine

'Are you implying we have a threesome?' -Diana

'Yes.' -Caine

'He's too busy molesting Sam.' -Diana

'Dammit. But can't _we_ join in? I'll be on top first.' -Caine

'Only if you don't spank me with that bloody purple scarf again.' -Diana

'Can I spank _Merwin _with that bloody purple scarf?' -Caine

'As long as you don't give him whip lash again.' -Diana

'I have much better uses for Merwin's whip...' -Caine laughing with malice

'When will you learn, Caine?' -Diana

'NEVER. Speaking of Merwin's whip, do you know that it vibrates?' -Caine

'And how exactly to you know that?' -Diana

'Experience, Diana, experience. You should try it sometime, I heard lonely women – like yourself – like eating vanilla ice-cream, cry in front of romantic movies that stares Hilary Swank and get stimulation out of small toys... Merwin's whip is like on of those small toys!' -Caine

'Maybe I'll ask him if I can borrow it – it's a Hilary Swank marathon tonight.' -Diana

'Can I join?' -Caine

'No. You always throw something with your powers.' -Diana

'Like what?' -Caine

'Like that time when you smashed a wall. No biggie.' -Diana

'I like Hilary Swank! Let me see too! PS: I'll bring popcorn.' -Caine

'Sweet or salted?' -Diana

'That depends on what you prefer, my dear.' -Caine

'Salted. My room, five o'clock? Don't forget your blankie.' -Diana

'Can't we share?' -Caine

'Fine then. We can share.' -Diana

'Why is Caine dancing and waving his arms up and down while screaming like a madman?' -Bug

'He's doing Atchair's bee-dance.' -Diana

'*unreadable scribble, though it's clearly an unreadable scribble of happiness.*' -Caine

'Caine... Are you mad?' -Diana

'No, my happiness just went over the hilt. I'm getting lucky tonight...' -Caine

'FILM. That is all, Cainey.'

'AH WE HAVE NICKNAMES SO COOL! I'll start calling Drake for Drakie. Feminine, but strong.' -Cainey

'What's my nickname?' -Diana

'Diana-y... No... Dianie... Nah... Miss. Mini Breasts! That's it! I swear even Orc has larger than you Diana.' -Cainey

'Orc's boobs are like boulders!' -Miss. Mini Breasts

'They're still bigger than yours, almost gigantic in comparison to your raisins!' -Caine

'Shut up! It's not like you know what you're talking about, Cainey!' -Miss. Mini Breasts

'No, it's not like I placed a video camera in your shower or anything...' -Cainey

'I thought that was Merwin's camera. Oops.' -Miss. Mini Breasts

'Why would Drakie watch you when he has me?' -Cainey

'All the more reason to want someone else.' -Diana

'Then he has no style whatsoever!' Caine

'More style than you, Cainey.' -Diana

'Drake has more style than me? I'll ask him of his ways and if he refuses to tell me I'll throw some of my designer shoes at him. Then he'll be sorry.' -Caine

'I want my black heels back!' -Diana

'Nonsense! They fit more to me than to you!' -Caine

'But they look better on me!' Diana

'No chance in Hell, gorilla feet!' -Caine

'Oh come on! That one time I didn't shave and you still hold it against me?' -Diana

'One time?' -Caine

'Well I didn't ask you to walk in on me showering!' -Diana

'Well it was very uncomfortable. For me. Sixteen times. Gawd.' -Caine

'Yes. Sixteen. You'd think it was on purpose.' -Diana

'Yes, strange that... Nevertheless, Merwin has walked into me eighteen times! And it always ends rather... Dirty.' -Caine

'So I hear – literally – you're quite the screamer.' -Diana

'Um. Oh. I see. Drake sometimes forgets preparation or lubrication. I feel so bad for my rapeable brother.' -Caine

'Sam is so damn molestable. Unless, you're Astrid.' -Diana

'I'm aware.' -Caine

'Don't tell me... You and Sam...?' -Diana

'Well... We were kinda bored and gay and sexually frustrated and yeah...' -Caine

'You shouldn't even admit that. Girls don't find incest attractive...' -Diana

'NOMNOMNOM TWINCEST HOLEY-HOOO!' -Atchair

'...Unless you're a fangirl.' -JokerGrace

'Well, it was before we knew we were brothers, so it doesn't really count! And besides, was that you squealing like now? Could've been Penny or Merwin though. Yes. Merwin is a fangirl. Scary.' -Caine

'It was Merwin – he just got a new review for his slash fic.' -Diana

'How nice. What did it say? And what pairing, if I may ask?' -Caine

'He won't tell me – maybe we should hack his account?' -Diana

'Certainly! I shall be a ninja and find out his password!' -Caine

'Have you worked out what it is yet? I've already tried unicorns, so don't bother with that.' -Diana

'Working on it now! I've tried DrakeIsAwesome, DrakeMolestsSam and DrakexSam but none of them seems to work. What about... Drake123. ...Shit. It worked. Well he certainly has a limited imagination.' -Ninja Caine

'You did it, Ninja Caine! Wait – let's check his documents. I bet he keeps a diary.' -Diana

'"Today I molested Sam." Well he certainly doesn't go into details...' -Ninja Caine

'"Tonight I molested Sam again." You're right: Drake has little imagination.' -Diana

'Totally. I'm always right. Wait what is this? "This morning I threw a pebble at some random guy. It was funny." ...At least he used a few more words!' -Ninja Caine

'Didn't you have rock thrown at you Caine? HEY: "Today I accidently broke Diana's iPod. Then I dreamt of molesting Sam."' -Diana

'Well now that you mention it... That bastard. And Sam. He gets molested a lot, doesn't he?' -Regular Caine

'I wonder what else Merwin has on his laptop...' -Diana

'Do not under any circumstances go on the file named 'PORN'. The content is obvious.' -Caine

'Ya think I'm that stupid?' -Diana

'Yes.' -Caine

'Look who's talking.' -Diana

'Shut up or I'll spank you with my purple scarf again!' -Caine

'I hid it when we were watching that Hilary Swank movie.' -Diana

'DAMMIT. Give me back my scarf or I'll... I'll... do something un-fabulous.' -Caine

'Like what?' -Diana

'Send Nudist!Drake on you!' -Caine

'...I gave the scarf to Nudist!Drake.' -Diana

'...Shit... I need to get it back too, it was my favourite.' -Caine

'You have about ten of the same scarf!' -Diana

'But that one scarf was special and particularly fabulous!' -Caine

'Why that one exactly?' -Diana

'It had orange stripes. Now Nudist!Drake is running around with it and ONLY it.' -Caine

'Dear God...' -Diana

'Your fault.' -Caine

'Drake being a nudist is my fault now?' -Diana

'Well... no. I think that his lack of clothes is kinda JokerGrace's fault.' -Caine

'Grace... No idea who she is. Not another OC?' -Diana

'No, she's a crazed college student that helps Atchair – y'know, inventor of "The Bee Dance" – come up with gruesome plots.' -Caine

'Hm. Those two sound weird – we should make Nudist!Drake get 'em.' -Diana

'That would just make them happy. Yes. They're insane like that and would probably rape him. CAN WE SEND HIM ANYWAY :D?' -Caine

'GO MERWIN!' -Diana

'Hope is lost for the nudist...' -Caine

'Wait... He has your scarf still. That means JokerGrace and Atchair have it now O.O' -Diana

'NOO. It's probably being used as bondage. We should hold a funeral for the scarf.' -Mourning Caine

'Here lies a fabulous scarf – good, loyal and 100% silk.' -Not-really sympatric Diana.

'BUUHUU!' -Mourning Cane

'There, there. It had a good life.' -Diana

'I need mental support. Can I come over to your place so we can watch some Hilary Swank movies? A little part of me died today. Perhaps the best part.' -Caine

'Fine. Just... please stop crying.' -Diana

'I'll try.' -Caine

'Good.' -Diana

'HELP M-' -Drake

'One leg's free! TIE HIM DOWN!' -Atchair

'DAMMIT DRAKE LAY STILL.' -Grace

'IT BURNS!' -Drake

'I DON'T CARE. YOU'RE GONNA LAY THERE AND TAKE IT LIKE THE GOOD BITCH YOU ARE. Grace, honey, please use the scarf on his feet.' -Atchair

'CAINE HELP!' -Tied up Drake

'I can't! I'm too busy preparing my scarf's funeral! I wonder if the colour on the candles are going to be creamy or yellowish white. What do you think?' -Caine

'Cream – OUCH! -Drake

'Okay, I'll go with cream. Thanks!' -Caine

'I think Drake is in a lot of pain. Ah well.' -Diana

'HAHA PAIN.' -Atchair

'That looks like it hurt... DO IT AGAIN.' -JokerGrace

'PLEASE, NO MORE. Stop shoving those things up my ass- Mmghh...' -Drake

'It goes up so far!' -JokerGrace

'Stop sending these messages! We're in a funeral so go away, it's totally ruining the mood!' -Caine

'Maybe you should say a few words to your scarf.' -Diana

''Dear scarf – you were there for me. All the time. The end.'' -Caine

'...Is that all?' -Diana

'...The death came on me very quickly, I didn't get enough time to write anything big... Or anything at all, for that matter.' -Caine

'I can see that. What now then?' -Diana

'Um, I dunno. What do people usually do at funerals?' -Caine

'I don't know... Cry?' -Diana

'WAH WAH MY BEAUTIFUL SCARF!...' Caine crying and screaming like a banshee

'Okay... Uh, that's enough Caine.' -Diana

'You're the one who said that people cry at funerals.' -Caine

'That wasn't crying! It was a worse sound than your singing!' -Diana

'My singing is simply fabulous!' -Caine dressed in an Elton John costume

'Caine, even Patrick sounds better than you.' -Diana, scarred for life

'NO FRIGGING WAY!' -Caine in denial

'Seriously. You suck.' -Diana

'T-That's n-not true!" -Sulking Caine

'Grow up Caine.' -Sneering Diana

'You're just jealous.' -Caine

'And you're in denial.' -Jealous Diana

'AM NOT. Watch yourself Ladris, you don't want to get the wrong side of me.' -Caine

'Ever so sorry Fearless Leader.' -Diana

'Bow down and kiss my shoes in apology.' -Caine

'Bloody... Fine. *kisses the shoes* You need to clean them- OH MY GOD IS THAT DOG SHIT!' -Diana

'AHH LICK IT OFF IT'S RUINING MY NATURAL FABULOUSNESS!' -Caine running around screaming like a banshee

'EWWW! Don't wipe it on me!' -Diana

'NINJA CAINE ATTACK!' -Caine throwing pop at Diana

'CAINE SOREN, THAT WAS TOTALLY UNFABULOUS!' -Diana

'NOOO~!' -Caine

'Shame on you! Now I'm the fabulous one!' -Fabulous Diana

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**Miscalculations**

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"_One day we're going to look back on this, laugh nervously and then change the subject._" -uknown_  
><em>

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Now, Drake did not consider himself to be a pervert. He was infamous for his cold indifference to anything that could be resembled as a romance, since he obviously was favored by teen girls who longed to 'tame' his bad boy side. Sadly, this wish was never fulfilled seeing as he turned down every request for a date from the opposite and same sex. And he didn't have a bad boy _side_, he was bad straight trough so there weren't anything to tame.

So even though he was standing and rocking back and forth right outside Caine's bathroom no one would ever dare to even think that it had something romantically to do with it. Well, it wasn't really Caine's bathroom, seeing as the two of them shared their room because no one else wanted to.

"Soren, hurry the fuck up! What's taking you so long? It doesn't take two hours to shower dammit!" Drake shouted furiously at the locked door while he violently banged at it. _'Jesus, what's taking him so long?' _Drake thought with gritted teeth. Had the evil overlord suddenly forgotten how to turn the shower on-?

Wait.

Was that a moan?

Drake's eyes widened and he leaned closer, pressing his ear against the door. Why- Oh yes, certainly, that was a moan.

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.**  
><strong>

Caine smiled in triumph as he ran a hand trough his thick hair, sighing with pleasure as he began massaging his scalp with the new strawberry shampoo he'd stolen from a random dorm-room when he thought no one was looking. It smelled so fresh of strawberries, and it was of the expensive sort – or so Caine thought anyway. "Because I'm worth it," he said as he turned the volume up on his DVD-box so it could drown the sound of water splashing against the bathroom tiles.

Because yes, when you're an evil overlord you have the right to have TVs in your bathroom.

Now his favorite soap opera drama was going on. Gracelia, the main character and damsel in distress, was fooled into thinking that Phinellipie was Thalami – Gracelia's husband – when he really was Thalami's evil twin brother! Oh the angst! "No Gracelia!" Caine thought over-dramatically (but true), "You mustn't sleep with-" Too late. Now the poor female was fooled into doing the dirty with Phinellipie. The horror!

"Oh I hate evil twins!" Caine announced loudly as Gracelia started to sing about her distress after finding out about her unfaithfulness. Caine joined in on the song seeing as he had memorized the text after all the times he had watched it.

.

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The infamous psychopath didn't fear _anything_. But when he heard moans and screams and singing coming from his leader's bathroom, it went cold down his spine.

The worst thing was that there was a grown man's voice that definitely wasn't Caine's voice was making a noise that sounded like an elephant being beaten to death. Plus that other women. Seriously, Drake didn't know that Caine was into that sort of thing. He was fourteen for Christ's sake! Not a normal 'experimenting' age.

Drake shivered and leaned against the wall in attempt to block out the terrible moans and screams. He wanted to get under Caine's skin and throw him of the throne someday but Drake wasn't the blackmailing type and was definitely not going to use this against him... The day he confronted Caine about what he did in bed was the day he willingly kissed Diana Ladris.

Why couldn't he just use another bathroom? Well, Drake's special only-his towel laid inside of that particular bathroom which was only allowed to be used of evil-over-lords-and-his-trustable-henchmen.

Drake sighed, but suddenly turned white as he heard a loud voice over the sound of water running and... Those other horrible noises the sand-blonde teenager had to intention of mentioning ever again. Someone was singing along with that woman. Was that... Caine? _Singing_? In the _shower_? Oh God.

.

.

Caine suddenly remembered that he was going to have an important meeting that day and quickly turned of the shower, lowering the volume a little bit. He grinned as the whole room smelled of the fresh scent of strawberries, stepped out of the shower and tied a pink, heart-dotted towel around his waist.

What? It was his room.

He didn't notice that Drake was standing outside and gaping at him, merely hummed on the opera song from his favorite movie.

The first thing Drake did was to run into the bathroom and check.

When Diana stuck her head inside their room to look for Caine later, she thought Drake was making a porn in there.

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**Though Shall Fear**

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"_If you ask a woman what her shoes cost, and she replies with "Nothing", then nothing can mean the same as, well, I dunno, maybe _200 dollars_! But if you ask a man how much his shoes costs and he replies with "Nothing" then he's probably found them somewhere. At the bus station for an example. "Huh, these was some nice shoes! It's only one of them that lacks a sole anyway. It's as good as new, with an extra thick sock you won't notice the difference!"_ -Dagfinn Lyngbø, The Evolution

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The Gaiaphage slowly made its way up on the surface. Hundreds of ideas of how to murder the ones that had opposed it rushed trough its radioactive brain.

If it had a mouth, a shark-like grin worse than the psychopathic child Drake Merwin's when it came to mischief and downright evil would have stretched across its face. Blood-red eyes didn't blink, just stared in front of it with silent defiance. It was going to tear, slice, and murder!

It did like the sound of that. It only needed to break trough the cement now, slowly, but just knowing how the great hero Sam Temple and his intelligent twin-brother Caine Temple would shake like asp leafs on a windy day made the task much easier.

If The Gaiaphage laughed an evil laughter that matched the devil's own and which only villains could manage to produce escaped its mouth.

They were going to suffer.

They were going to die.

A horrible, agonizing death. Even Caine Soren would beg them to take his girlfriend Diana Ladris instead of him, because when everything comes down to it, humans are just as rotten as wild predators, only thinking about themselves.

The Gaiaphage felt the cement on top of it give in.

Soon!

It would flow the streets with its green radioactive liquid, and adore how the children begged for their parents and drowned into the green engulfing mass that penetrated and tortured every cell in their body.

It broke trough with a _grafff_, pleased with itself.

It had won. It had actually won, actually raised from the earth and was now going to ruin the air!

And now, the children of Perdido Beach were going to die.

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A three centimeters blob of greenness that looked weirdly much like a mini man made out of jelly stood in the middle of the parking lot near Coates academy. It laughed evilly, but the hitch-pitched noise sounded like someone walking on an yellow shower duck, with the volume way too low for anyone to notice.

Caine walked by exactly that moment, in his own thoughts.

_SQUIIIIIT. _

"Well fuck," Caine cursed, a disgusted expression on his face, "got some shit under my shoe. And that was the shoe with no sole in, dammit. Went right into the sock..."

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**Undying Love**

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"_You're _so_ my _bitch_!"_ -my friend, owning me at some video game

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His movements; calm and calculated. Yet a small trembling was noticeable if you studied him close enough, as if he was doing something terrific where it was no turning back. At all. But he needed to do this, for the sake of his own heart.

Caine was in the Coates dining hall, surrounded by students always in awe of his pretence, no matter if they hated or loved him. So when he stood up from his standard place surrounded by fangirls and body guards, without something happening, everybody knew he had something on his mind. Even the fangirls seemed shocked over the abrupt change in his mood.

Biting his bottom lip hard, he made his way trough the room with his course directly against the most infamous person on the entire school; Drake Merwin. He was no bully, but a sadist, someone who liked inflicting pain, not because it brought them dominance, but because of the sadistic pleasure that would surge trough his body whenever he tortured someone.

"Merwin," Caine stated, eyes dark.

The sand-blond sat alone, since company from others wasn't something he longed after. He looked up, his guard up and mercuric eyes narrowing when the wannabe overlord neared his place. "Soren," he said venomously, "What do _you_ want?"

As if the sharp tone had caused fantasy daggers to go trough Caine's chest, he took a step backwards. "I... I have an announcement," he stammered, unsure, which was a highly unlikely thing for him to be. His personality was nothing like the innocent child that stood before Drake now. It was as if he was stripped from his usual arrogance.

"Well what is so fucking important that you had to do it here? Can't it wait?" Not that he was doing anything important, but everybody's eyes transfixed on the two of them made him slightly uneasy. Even the teachers were watching them, causing an uncomfortable silence to appear.

"Drake," Caine winced, "Please don't be like that." Using the sadist's first name was an uncommon trait for him and many eyebrows was raised at this. "I know this is hard for you but... If we're together, we can make it trough this..."

To this Drake replied with a shocked "What?" not knowing fully how to respond otherwise.

"Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about, Drakey." Oh god, he even had a nickname.

"I really don't," Drake said, eyes wide and narrowed.

"I know you harbour feelings for me... And, it's okay. Because I..." Caine pushed Drake backwards into the wall, hands on each side of the psycho's head.

"I... I love you too, Merwin."

Someone in the hall spit out soda all over their girlfriend, but when she started scolding him everybody shh-ed on her. This was like a suspenseful TV drama. Just instead of a man and a woman loving each other, it was two mentally deranged males who was supposed to hate each other. Even the guys and teachers was interested, most gaping like fishes.

Feeling like his brain had exploded, Drake got up and headed for the door.

"I'm going now. Don't talk to me. Ever." He looked disturbed out of his mind. Well, if he had a mind.

As soon as he'd gotten two steps away from Caine, the megalomaniac threw himself on top of him used his entire bodyweight to crush the panicking sadist down onto the ground. "Don't go, my love! I know it's hard for you, but we will make it trough this!"

"GET OFF ME!" Drake screamed. "GET. THE. FUCK. OFF." He put emphasis on each word, fighting to free himself from Caine's tone-like grip. The bastard was using his powers to hold him down as well.

"No! Don't go! I want the world to know of our undying love! Don't be shy!"

"I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Now Drake was getting desperate, and with a last hit to Caine's chin, he ran as fast as his legs could bear him out of the dining hall.

Caine stood up, looked in the direction where Drake had run off to, before brushing dirt of himself and grinning like the mad thing he was. He ignored the staring from fellow students, and went down to sit down with Diana, who didn't look very impressed. Though her eyes was on him.

"The money, please," Caine said smoothly.

"I didn't think you'd do it," she confessed and started searching in her pockets. She handed him a few dollars.

He counted them and smirked, "There is a reason you call me _Fearless_ Leader."

His chin hurt, but it was so totally worth it. Drake would not go near him for a few weeks, and that was just one of the good things with winning the bet with the beautiful Ladris.

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**It All Takes Some Convincing**

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"...What, you're afraid it'll hurt or something?"

"Yes I am!" Sam shouted back, clearly wanting to end the conversation. He glared daggers trough the other's scull in his twisted imagination. But anyone would be a little twisted after dealing with Drake, especially on daily basis. "I'm not letting stick me with that _thing_..."

"It won't sting much," Drake retorted, eyes blasting. "And I promise I'll make it good for ya..." he stated in a low, husky voice, clearly attempting to be sexy but failing miserably.

"No. No way in hell." Sam turned against the livid invalid. "I'm not letting you do that stuff to me. Go bother someone else and do it to them!"

"But that won't be half as fun," Drake pouted. "I want to do it to you, and only you!"

Sam growled.

Drake sulked.

"Fine, if you won't let me, maybe I'll go do it to Astrid..."

"Don't you dare."

"Oh, I bet she'd be interested..."

"She has an IQ much like Albert Einstein. Why should she be enamoured with your sick idea? Hell, I don't think there's a living person in this world that'd actually like that." Sam seemed to think for a moment. "Except psychopaths." He hit his knee and gave Drake a gleeful smile, "AH! I got it Drake!"

"What?"

"You can do it to yourself!" Sam said with a smile.

"Hell no."

"Why?"

"'Cause it won't be as much fun, duh." Drake looked at him like he was the stupidest shit in the world. Sam returned with the exactly same look.

"Oh c'mon..."

"No."

"It'll go real slow and gentle..."

"That will only make it hurt more!"

"Frightened?" Drake asked again with a frown. "You don't need to be. It's not like I'm gonna f-"

"For god's sake Merwin I'm not letting you stamp my hand to a piece of paper!" Sam shouted.

"But-"

"NO!"

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**Not In Public!**

(Sequel of _It All Takes Some Convincing_)

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Drake shifted uncomfortably, a deep blush on his features. And he hated it. it was only sissy little teen girls that blushed, not infamous bullies like him.

"Idiot! Don't do it here!" he shouted furiously.

Sam face-palmed at his outburst, groaning. "Why not?" He was about to go on his knees in front of Caine, but abruptly stopped once he noticed the look of horror on the sand-blonde teen's face.

"Why not?" Drake mimicked in a quiet but quick hiss, "Because it's damn embarrassing that's why. We're in public dammit! Do you have no shame Temple?"

"I'm not ashamed about it. In fact, in brings me great amusement to do something you can't do all by yourself." Sam gave him a standard smirk, but once he noticed the angry look on Drake's face he sighed and held his hands flatly up in surrender. "Tsk. Whatever, we can go somewhere a little more private to do it if that's what you wish."

"I can do it by myself!" Drake shouted, before his checks heated up again and he looked down. "Dumbass. I just... I'm not very good OK? I always make a fucking mess."

Sam raised an eyebrow. He then sighed again and grabbed Drake's hand, "C'mon Merwin. I bet there's an empty warehouse here somewhere."

Drake nodded in satisfaction, following the other teen into a deserted ally. Once they stood there, Drake snarled at Sam's smirking face. "What are you waiting for? Do it then?"

"Always so impatient," Sam said and sighed as he went on his knees in front of Drake for the second time that day.

"I swear, when are you gonna learn?"

"It's not my fault I find it so hard!"

"It's pretty simple!"

"It's not!"

Sam began tying Drake's shoes. "Dammit, I learned to tie my own shoes when I was six!" The end result being a very nicely done bow.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT IT'S SO DAMN HARD!" Drake shouted on top of his lungs and promptly stomped away like a four-year old kid that had just been offended.


	18. September Blues

**Disclaimer: **Gone™ isn't mine, still.

**Rated:** M

**Beta: **None.

**Warning:** this contains bad language, use of offending words, mentions towards the sexual nature, prostitutes, creepy pedophile motherfuckers, and gay!Sam. Oh, and Marv.

**Type: **Unfinished story, chapter one. Though can get read as a long oneshot.

**Genre:** Dark humour, drama, friendship.

**Pairing:** Hinted Dram and Caina. Odd!friendship!Saiana

**Summary:** Once in a while, two different yet alike people would meet up and have a nonchalant chat, drinking coffee and having a small pause from life in Basin City.

**Words:** 5'719

****A/N: ****This was orginally going to be a crossover with _Sin City_ and was written months ago. I never regained interest in it though and here you have the finished first chapter. The second chapter wasn't even worth touching 'cos it was short and stupid, so yeah. I don't think I'll ever write more on it, but if anyone's interested in writing more, feel free to PM me for permession. Ah, fuck it, just ignore that and start writing anyway. Something without OCs would be very good, no matter who writes it.

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**September Blues**

**Part 01: Friends Like These  
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_"I just followed him out here to make sure he didn't hurt any of the girls."_

_"Us _helpless _little girls." _

-Conversation between Dwight and Gail, _Sin City_

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The rusty old bell rang, indicating that another customer had slinked into Café Rose.

Cold, moist air flew in, causing a shiver to run through those who happened to be seated close by the door. Rain poured outside; it was one of those days where it never seemed to end, where the rain wasn't shy or underdeveloped, it was one of those days where the unnamed rain god showed his true potential and let the soaking hell he held by his fingertips lose on Sin City.

Safe to say, it was just another typical day in the middle of November, one of the most hated months in the entire continent. What most believed it to be, anyhow.

Depression, which most kept hidden so deep inside their self-centered hearts that sometimes when the sadness within made itself known, to a particularly unlucky soul, catching up with the owner, it would often result in something undeniably _bad_. And most habitants of Sin City knew that there were worse fates than just death itself – something that could make the Hell they came to seem like a pure Heaven afterwards. Drugs and shit. Mobs. Things the ones with a good head mostly kept themselves away from, but sadly, there are idiotic people everywhere. Those with a bright future left Sin City as soon as they came – their high IQs and free will made sure of it.

"What took ya so long?" a pretty girl questioned, a natural brunette, tilting her head to the side, dark chocolate eyes half-lidded and the soon-to-be burnt out cigarette between index and middle finger; often referred to as the French, or just the female method. Or just the faggot method if you were a guy, but homosexuality wasn't that big of a taboo since it excised so much everywhere, from dark allies to popular hair saloons, so the homophobic insults were usually ignored and looked down on, sometimes even "handled".

The girl's name was Diana Ladris.

Diana sat cross-legged, and had leant back comfortably in the red white-striped material supporting her back. She smirked and blew large amounts of smoke into the air, creating an enchanted mist around her, making her appear like a blurred form before it returned to normal within seconds.

It looked more like a dining place than a café, but the owner had insisted on keeping the reference as a "café". _Old habits die hard_, was the quote the owner had reasoned herself with.

"A damned taxi driver," Sam Temple, or the newest customer, said idly as he sat down on the opposite side of her, and waved to the waitress to come take his order. She sneered in reply, mouthing the obvious insult. Sam, not really offended, more like mockingly amused, gave her his middle finger.

Luckily, before any more insults could be exchanged, the old female owner soon came out and smacked the rude female across the head, saying something about how mean it was to pick on those different – and when that didn't work, shouted that she better behave or she was going to end up on the street _again_.

Attention back on Diana, Sam stretched his arms up in a carefree manner. "'Sides. Invalid who drove me wouldn't settle for just the amount of money I had on me. So had to improvise, unless I wanted my sweet ass hauled up on the police office for whatever reason that idiot made up..."

There was nothing major that brought attention to him; he was dressed in a simple pair of semi-expensive onyx-black jeans and a plain grey t-shirt. Shoving off his sexuality proudly, he also wore a massive Indian necklace with several handcuff-like chains and old ropes tied together, with feathers and a few crow-feet made out of steel, making his outfit appear a little more than just a simple youth's. Plus the multi-colored rainbow flag he had taped on the massive necklace was pretty much a dead give-away. His black eyeliner had started to run a tad because of the dreadful weather, obviously irritating him endlessly.

Nothing gave away his work at all. Perhaps his sexuality, but not his work.

Diana laid the remains of her cigarette in the ashtray on the table, making sure not to soil the old white tablecloth. One of the things she liked at this place was the fact that it stayed the same way it had looked for years, never changing unless someone saw an extreme need to. The café managed to survive with the hard competition of the expensive Italian restaurants surrounding it, by getting the little money it needed of regulars that felt the same way as Diana did – most needed a place that stayed unchanged, at least for the longest of times.

Because nothing can stay unchanged.

It was a joke among higher class people to call it Café Thorn instead, because of its looks comparing to the hip restaurants beside it. No one really cared though.

"So he drove you elsewhere?" Diana chuckled darkly.

Both kept the volume of their rather vulgar conversation quiet enough for only them to hear.

"_She_ actually," Sam corrected, tone pretty much blasé. "And you could say that," he then joined her chuckling, waving away the remains of the smoke. His hair was wet and it bothered him non-stop – he needed to loan a mirror of Diana sometime soon. "Old hag 'least gave me the allowance to change in her taxi afterwards. Watched me like a fucking stalker, creepy as hell." He didn't look too bothered, instead running a hand through his hair in an attempt to get some sorely-needed style into the messy mop of auburn. "Probably depressed black widow or somethin', getting all wet of the sight of a youngster."

"Mustn't be too hard on the oldies, Sammy-boy, it could come back to bite you in the ass."

"If you're referring to that overly-excited lover that left a bite-mark on my left ass-cheek it's not fucking funny. If I gotta deal with one more question on how I got that, and the customer ending in a laughter fit instead of what he came to do, I'm seriously gonna get a tattoo over it or somethin'. Piercing, whatever."

"Just kidding with ya love," Diana reached out and lightly slapped him across the cheek, before her eyes wandered over to the large frosted window beside her. You could still see and hear the unembarrassed rain-drops furiously throwing themselves at the window, almost desperate to get in. However the immense power of nature did little or nothing to change Diana's unimpressed facial expression. It always stayed that way – unchanged.

"And it would ruin yer good business right? You get customers 'cos you look so boyishly cute. Not feminine, but too adorable for all the pedophiles to pass. The perfect submissive bottom, eh?"

Sometimes Sam wondered if she knew too much about his personal life than what was healthy for friends to know. Nah. Even if Diana could have written a dead-embarrassing biography about his entire life, she was his only friend that he trusted one hundred percent, and he felt closer to her than anyone he'd met in his entire life – even if they only saw each other once a week if they hadn't "business" at the same place. "What about you? Gettin' cash 'cos you're a good bottom? Don't fucking lie to me."

"I'm about as innocent as a lamb," she said sarcastically, standard amount of sarcasm dripping off her voice like some sort of bizarre, thick liquid. "But all kidding aside, I don't really have a specification. Men-"

"And women," Sam interrupted, winking at her, "Don't let me be the only one who fucks both genders."

Some sniggering was heard from behind them, but they both recognized the hoarse, mocking noise and ignored it. The two of them could have shouted to the invalid to mind his own business, but both enjoyed being alive at the moment so that was a solid disagreement from the two friends.

She rolled her eyes, but continued, not really bothered with the interruption since she saw the humor in his statement. "Men _and_ women just happen to like how I do things. That's all there is to it."

She ended to short speech with a nonchalant shrug, just in time for Mother Mary to interrupt them. Now, Mother Mary – or sometimes just nicknamed MM – wasn't her real name, it was just a nickname she had gotten because of her love for people that came to her liking. As soon as someone became a regular at Café Rose and she happened to get more than a few words out of them, they almost became like sons or daughters for the sixty-something still-unmarried woman. What was that she had quoted? _"Well, I didn't want the man that wanted me and the man I wanted didn't want me so I just stayed like this."_

Mother Mary knew about their jobs. She hadn't asked, but she knew.

Knowing all the old and young folks' secret by silently listening to the quiet dialogue in her café, and also keeping this seemingly unimportant information to herself only, she had ended up knowing more than a priest knew altogether when it came to the rough people of Sin City. Everybody knew. No one did anything about it, because most habitants of Sin City knew that Mother Mary had quite the few customers that weren't all goody-two-shoes.

"Anything I can do for you two? How about you hun?" she turned to Sam, smiling widely at him and revealing the sight of quite a few teeth missing. She said she didn't believe in fixing teeth for so large amount of cash, but everybody knew it was because she was scared of dentists.

"I'll just take a coffee latte please," Sam gave a nod and a polite smile.

"Right." She scribbled it down on a small yellow notepad, writing so unreadable that anyone else than her would have some serious issues understanding a mere word. "And you Diana?"

"Jus' the regular mam," Diana said, studying her new fake nails she had gotten at a drugstore for only two dollars. They matched her chocolate hair, she thought, pleased.

"One cappuccino and a latte coming right up. And get rid of that feisty accent Diana, it'll give your identity away way too soon. I know you went to public school so don't try and argue." Tone full of a mother's stern concern, Mother Mary wandered towards the kitchen after reviving an immediate "Yes mam!" from both of them.

"Tough woman," Diana said once she was gone. Not that Diana actually looked like a prostitute, perhaps her makeup was a little over-done – however most of the women at her age did that, a simple blue tight-sitting t-shirt (proudly showing off her Cs), a pair of black jeans just as tight as Sam's, and an obviously expensive coat hanging over the chair beside her. Somehow she appeared nonchalant when in public, no matter how suggestive her clothes might be for straight males.

"Kinda like those black mothers on Featwood street."

They both shared a small laugh from their time as children at one of the cheapest corner in Sin City; running through hidden allies and poking fun of the people in the windows noises streaming out from the open windows in the large blocks surrounding them.

Sam had been seven the first time he saw a man take a woman over the kitchen table and fuck the shit out of her. Diana had been four, walking straight in on her mother and the creepy step-dad banging after she had heard a lot of odd sounds coming from the bedroom. Not that it bothered them. She was a year older than him, but had actually preferred him to the children on her own age, owing to the fact that Sam was the only guy willing to play with barbies.

What followed afterwards was getting lured into this work as soon as they passed seventeen. But none of them really complained, they merely saw it as just another job, and that wasting years on an expensive college so you could get a decent-paid job, get a wife, have a pile of kids and then all the divorce shit and cheating, resulting in you dying alone, were all_ so_ boring. They didn't have the natural intelligence to get one of the higher better-paid jobs, and leaving Sin City wasn't an option.

It just wasn't.

"So, Diana, any customers bothering you?" Sam asked, bringing her out of her thinking trance. He was twenty-one and she was twenty-two, but sometimes she saw herself as a whole lot older than him.

"Well, that odd moustache guy keeps convincing himself that he loves me and that I love him back and wants to take me away, get married, start a family, have lotsa lotsa sex and not necessarily in that order… Y'know the story."

"Always the same story and always the same outcome. Some piece of shit idiot scumbag says he wants to take you away, and if you're dumb enough to believe it ya- Sorry Mother Mary, I meant _you_ – get a lot of shit from his wife, friends and possible idiotic kids – like fathers like kids – before traveling to another city, resulting in him finally dumping you and going begging back to his wife; leaving you in this new town alone." Sam sighed, obviously frustrated about the situation that kept on repeating itself.

"Soon you'll have to earn some cash to get back to Sin City, but most prostitutes in other cities or countries have to have a shitty _pimp_ to get it going unlike here, resulting in a contract and blah blah blah you're stuck in the shithole." Sam sighed again. "Sorry. Just got a letter from Adam Viko – y'know, nicknamed Willing Viko? – telling me this same fucking sob-story. Too bad it's realty for the fucker. Even wants to take his own life now but hasn't the guts to do it. …Smoke?" he pulled out a small cigarette box and offered one.

Too engrossed in his story, she shook her head after a five seconds period of just staring blankly in front of her. He sighed, but didn't take one himself either – probably because Mother Mary was giving him the evils from her place behind the desk. "Good thing you're not dumb enough to get yourself into that shit. Right?"

"Of course I know it. And of course I'm not that stupid." She moved an annoying curl of hers to behind her ear. Her large silver earring rattled with the movement. "But there's this one guy..."

"Fuck no."

"Calm yo tits." Diana placed her index finger on his head, pushing him backwards into the bench again since he had leant so far forward over the table, obviously to give her the ultra-worried glare of eternal doom. Although a whore at night, her manners were still in place, and she said nothing offending back. "It's not like I plan to leave Old Town. I love it over there, it's like a heaven to work in. With our truce with the police, they keep the pimps and the mob away, and we give some of our well-earned cash and free entertainment whenever those pigs are having a party."

"I know, I know." Sam waved it away. "The Amigos did make the same deal fifteen years ago, remember? Anyway, who is this mystery man? It was a man right?"

"I'm not a _damn_ lesbian."

"Whatever. Who is he?"

Now it was her turn to wave it away. "A spoiled my-father-is-rich brat. He's about as good in bed as a wooden plank, super-innocent, and way too willing to learn the tricks sometimes. Can't even go two rounds without breaking a sweat. His red orgasm face is about as sexy as a pig's, and he's arrogant and stupid and the most self-centered invalid I have met in my entire life." After all the insults, the tiniest of smiles made it to her face. "But he's oddly sweet, totally in love with me and he brings he flowers." She leant on her elbow.

"That doesn't-"

"He pays me triple and it's red roses Sam. _Red roses_."

Sam looked lost for a moment. "Damn."

Roses? Who the fuck bring prostitutes roses? And red ones, red ones for love… That was obviously the questions circling his mind. And a tiny bit of jealousy as well – no one ever brought Sam roses except those pedophiles trying to convince him to join their asses back to Europe. Obviously the guy's ass had been thrown out by his helpful comrades in the same business.

"No one has ever brought me roses except you, and let's face it – you're the sweetest friend a girl like me can have; but you're about as straight as a circle and _I_ was the one that kicked you out of the fucking closet all those years ago."

Elvis' Love Me Tender was playing in the background, sounding quite melancholy accompanied with the noise of rain impatiently tapping against the dirty glass of the window.

"So he's kinda sweet but so what? I hope you don't run off Diana." Something oddly conservative came over his voice, something that signalized that his feelings would show. None of them were very emotional people, but when he grabbed her hand and looked at her with those big, midnight-blue eyes, her expression softened. "You're the only one I can trust around here. I… I love you."

"N'aw!" it came from the opposite table. "This cheesy mood is really fucking melting my stone heart."

"Shut up Marv," Diana shot at the sour giant, before she squeezed Sam's hand. "Love ya too. Always did, always do. My favorite queer."

"I'm the only homosexual person that stands you Diana. Even Merwin can't stand the sight of ya, and he's the one that has to deal with the whiny men with perverse fantasies of being the submissive parts. The perfect top, remember?"

"Well but Merwin can go suck his own- Wait a minute, you still hang around that psychopathic bastard, who's still without the proper medicine he so sorely needs?" Diana shook her head, but Sam stayed emotionless and only thought that Drake was going to slaughter her if he'd heard she had said that. "What have I told you about wasting pity on that fucker? He won't think any higher of you anyway; you're still an insect under his shoe like everybody else."

Noticing his lost expression, she crossed her arms causing her to squeeze her breasts a little too well together, which caused the consciousness of another customer at a nearby to vanish. It was ignored, except perhaps Mother Mary's face interacting with her palm.

"Hey, I know you're naïve for a slut Sam, but seriously?"

"Hey," he began, tone sour because of the offending doubt, "I'm not in love with the fucker! We're just playmates. And we do jobs together when the situation needs us to, which is pretty damn often, mind you. I despise him, but he's better than most the old farts I sleep with in bed. So he's my fuck-buddy. That's all."

"Again, very useful information!" Marv shouted, smirking, but eyes never leaving the donut he was currently devouring like a starved dog. It wasn't eating. Diana and Sam had seen eating. What Marv did was pure chaos.

"Stop fucking listening to private conversations, you big ape!" Diana shot back, fully aware of that the man didn't hit dames. It pissed him off when people did shit like that – the boy that had hurt that famous Nancy girl was a living, eh, well dead proof of just that.

Her shouting was just rewarded with a hoarse laughter, before the man drowned his mouth in medicine. "But seriously Sammy, Merwin? He's the nastiest cruelest bastard on this earth – didn't you remember him teasing us when we were younger about you being gay? 'Sides, you're so cute and you're a willing bottom, so you could get anyone you desired!"

"I dunno… I just like the way he does his, eh, _stuff_. He first showed me a good time when all those fag cops were having a party, and drunk as hell, they ordered the two of us to "play together" so they could jerk off to it. Merwin didn't miss a chance to be on top so I somehow ended up moaning on the table with him fucking me against it. Weren't even done with the preparation and already the crowd was breathing hard. But he wasn't that harsh as he usually is, so we kinda ended up in the same bed later that week, on the private this time."

"Good for you." Diana had a milk moustache when she sat the cup back on the table, but Sam thought it was cute so he didn't tell her. She saw him eyeing her upper lip and quickly dried it off, flipping him off afterwards, still without a word. He smirked and blew her a kiss. Like nothing of it had happened, they continued the conversation.

"Don't pretend he's not good on the eye. I know you despise each other like a cat and a dog, but he's nice to me when he wants to fuck. And all he does when he isn't fucking are sleeping, eating or taking a piss. Kinda like a dumb psycho cat."

"Nice? Merwin? So what you're saying he's not killing nor physically or mentally torturing you? I guess that's _nice _in his standards." She caught the ugly look Sam sent her and sighed, "Well, okay, but he's the pussy one of us."

Sam grinned. "Agreed, for once."

"Here you go kids." Soon Mother Mary delivered their orders, smiling while she did it. She had heard their conversation, accidently or not, but seemed to ignore the bad words exchanged for once, because the "I love you" had probably made her inner romantic girl squeal in delight, which had created the good mood. "Extra sugar Sam, just like you like it."

"Yay! Thank you!"

Diana smirked, "Yeah thanks." With Mother Mary's stern look and a reminder about the comment on her ugly slang, she corrected herself with a proper "Thank you." It made the old woman fuck off at least. Not that the relief was muttered out loud, Diana treasured her life – and weekly coffee – more than to do that.

"Diana, do you-" Sam was about to ask her about something when he was interrupted by someone he did not want to see. At all. Hell, even Merwin would have been more welcomed than this, and_ that _guy was a damn sadist with serious mental issues.

"Well well well – look who I spotted through the window of my car." The tall form of a stranger made itself known – or perhaps not a stranger to Sam.

A slicked-back blondish (the little hair that were left were blonde at least) man in a suit and a large "pedostache" gave Sam a rather suggestive look, fingers locking tightly around his shoulder, like if the man owned him or something. "Isn't it my dear Sammy-boy? You remember me right?" He purred on the _r_s, but it didn't make him any sexier, just creepier and more pedophile-ish.

"I'm not workin' right now," Sam barked harshly, trying to get the hands away from his perfectly tanned body. But grabby hands desired more and suddenly the creepy old man was caressing his soft lips with two fingers.

"I don't care. I want you to show me and my mates a good time, just like you showed me all those nights ago." The tone was so disgustingly _slick_, that Sam felt the sudden need to throw up at him. But he managed to transform some of the disgust into anger. Red anger. Anger was always red. Was that something Drake Merwin had told him once? He could not recall it, but it sounded like his fuck-buddy's twisted style.

"What? Haven't managed to save up again after using those three months of hard-earned cash on two hours with me? So ya hafta bring all your friends into it and make 'em pay? Even for me, that's pretty darn cold," Sam mocked him, sticking out his tongue in an incredibly childish method of teasing the man. He crossed his arms, "'Sides, I ain't on the Amigo street right now so that means I ain't working, just like I said. I don't do group jobs either."

"Little self-centered slut," suddenly the man's grip had tightened even more, and after restraining his rage into bearable levels again he'd violently grabbed hold of Sam's hair instead of leaving some serious damage on his shoulder. The man needed to cut his nails, seriously.

"Here I come with cash to ya, so I can refrain from making a bigger fool out of myself in front of my friends by showing how well you do your stuff and why I spent money on your ass, and I get blown off by_ you_, a fucking whore." He could have been nicknamed tomato-face (catchy superhero name!) with the facial color of his.

"I said get a move on!" Now the man was pulling Sam up, forcing him to stand.

The attempt on dragging him out was stopped with a verbal response from a very angry woman, though she somehow managed to keep her tone calm.

"Let the kid go. Didn't you hear him? He's not working, just enjoying his coffee. So piss off." Mother Mary stood with her hands on her hips and also somehow appearing maddeningly threatening for a sixty-something year old woman.

"This is none of your bloody business, old hag. So piss off yourself or you'll get a bullet through that thick skull of yours you bi-"

Suddenly there was a sound of six guns' safety being taken off, all directed at the challenger within a second.

Diana, Mother Mary, some other strangers that saw each other all the time but never interacted, and even Marv (he had an impressive pair of revolves Sam hadn't seen in years – where did he get his stuff? Sam needed to ask him soon) their guns them directed against this man.

"I'd suggest _not_ if I were you," an old cop said, not a trace of emotion in his dead voice. All the criminality in Sin City had murdered the hearts of those who once were reliable and kind-hearted police officers and old enough to experience the old days. Now they were just hollow shells of what and who they had once been, drinking coffee at the same place each day and most retired, rotting in some corner of the city.

The pedophile-ish guy narrowed his small grey eyes and slinked out the door at once, making sure to glare at everyone in the small café before exiting like a dog with its tail between its legs. He couldn't tell the police since there was a cop there from before, whom sure as hell didn't look like he was going to tell on them about the guns, since he also held one.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled when he calmly sat down again, massaging his scalp. It didn't hurt too much, but the sensation of having someone trying to tear your hair-roots off wasn't particularly ecstatic, even if he was used to pain. He was used to being threatened by over-excited customers, who usually got what they lust desired (sometimes in the form of a mark on you-know-where), and felt pretty humble when the people on the café had stood up for him like that.

However, he did understand it. Café Rose was a place where you came to escape the busy city life, a small paradise in the middle of the dangerous murky waters surrounding the island. People came here to relax and have quiet conversation that no one was supposed to know about, not to fight or murder people. It was an unwritten rule. But when someone broke this unwritten rule… Oh, these people could be heartless when they wanted to.

Most were living examples on heartlessness.

"No one…" Marv began in his rough, gruff voice. He took a large slurp that echoed around in the whole room, laid some tips on the plate where the donut was left half-eaten (earning a stern look from Mother Mary, which Marv obviously ignored), and headed towards the door. "No one… No one pulls out a gun while I'm enjoying my vodka."

"Or pulls out a dick for that matter," Diana muttered under her breath but gave Marv the most beaming grin ever; just as fake as her plastic nails. Marv muttered something remotely insulting in return and vanished out the door into the gruesome weather, though she had a sneaking assumption that he actually enjoyed the horrible rain. Matched his "bright" personality, she decided.

"Well I need to slink off," Diana finally found the right moment to say it and searched in her pocket for some money to pay for her drink. "Took the day shift again, and the clock is sneaking away to the point where I need to be ready. Makeup takes forever and arranged clothing. If I'm unlucky Mr. Paladin wants the usual procedure. The one with the creepy sex games and weird roleplays," she explained when Sam looked lost.

"Tell me about it," Sam voiced in, quiet. "I still get Howard to do my dramatic look with eyeshadow and all. I just can't get it completely right, but I'm better than Merwin anyway – bastard's still struggling with his guyliner. Can't keep his fucking hands steady. I told him it's because he do too many hand-jobs. He told me to go fuck a watermelon."

"Charming."

"Exactly." He lighted a smoke, soundlessly reviving a lighter from Diana. The two of them had smoked since he could remember, first trying it out in some hidden narrow alleyway behind a drugstore. He could still remember how his eyes had gone watery and how Diana had tried to do it the French way but failed miserably and a fire started in a nearby dumpster. No one had ever discovered that it was them though. They knew all the shortcuts and ran off before the firemen arrived.

"Well, I better get going. Taking Dekka's shift today."

"Dekka? You mean the big black dyke?"

"Who else?"

"She still running after that girl who calls herself something extremely creepy childish? What is it again, The Breeze, "'cos I make the guys cum so fast"…?" Sam looked disgusted.

Not that he had anything against Dekka; she had let him crash at her place while he was dead-stoned because of some scumbag that had doped him down, and he'd always felt he owed her one after that. It wasn't like she spoke much or embraced her sexuality – she was more masculine than him, that was sure, but it really didn't take much to beat his natural cuteness – but she really was a good listener. When he asked her what he'd said while in such a deranged state she'd quickly and stoic-facedly summarized that he'd complained on his mother for not giving him the Ken doll he wanted for Christmas, instead ending up with some toy cars because "it was more acceptable for boys to play with". Dekka had yet to tell anyone about this incident, and he was forever grateful for that. If the guys at the Amigos found it out, they'd never let him live it down. Especially Merwin.

"Yup. Won't get it into her head that Brianna is too head over heels in that little nerd that Merwin beat up all those years ago, and still goes around hoping for somethin' that's not gonna happen. I'd felt sorry for her if she hadn't been so goddamn stupid. Poor Dekka. Love isn't easy, especially if the one you're in love with is a bitch." She took a long drag of her cigarette, "But nevertheless, I need to go."

"Yeah. Can't get you late to some working, eh? After all, Paladin is the secret mystery guy eh? Diana is in l-o-v-e~!"

"Be reasonable. I'd never sink so low. And his name is Caine Soren by the way, and so far we haven't even shared a romantic moment, so I ain't emotionally involved with the fucker."

"Yet. He's probably just interested in your ass too. You should stop this thing with him and tell him the truth, then send him crying at the door, all his stupid efforts in vain."

"Says the homo that fucks motherfucking _Merwin_."

"Touché. You won't forget about that, will you?"

Smirking again, she winked at him and put on her coat. It was in a silver color, shining dimly from the light from the lonely light-bulb swinging back and forth after Marv had hit his head in it some minutes back. "'Course I'll never let you live it down. That's what friends are for."

Diana kissed his cheek on her way out, breathing in his familiar scent. Sam was the only individual with a penis (who wasn't a tranny – trannies were often okay, but a little too humble because of all the shit they needed to take for their choices in life) she showed affection for.

He grabbed her hand and stopped her from walking any further, instead softly dragging her closer to him, kissing her on the mouth. His lips were soft and oddly shy against hers, and she lightly applied pressure to the lust-less kiss. It wasn't a romantic or sexual kiss of any sort – both were as romantically attracted to each other as two rocks – but a sign of friendship between two prostitutes.

Besides, it was easier to do it this way when Marv wasn't commenting on their actions, not matter how what degree of oddness, all the time.

Letting go, a peaceful expression slid into his adorable face, because Sam still somehow managing to appear completely innocent. Safe to say, this was quite an uncommon trait for an experienced slut like himself. "See you next Sunday then, my love."

"Of course. Bye bye Sammy-boy. Don't you get killed 'till next week."

"Gonna try!"

And with that, the two parted.

Sam drank up the remainders of his coffee latte, thinking about their conversation. Until next time, he thought, if there will be one.


	19. I are

**Disclaimer:** Thank god no.

**Rated:** MAAAAA

****Warnings:**** Blood and gore and death and cannibalism and sick shit and slaughtering and insanity and cursing and anti-religion (kinda) things and Satanism (kinda) and a lot of things that make people want to vomit.**  
><strong>

**Beta:** None.

**Type:** Oneshot thing.

**Genre:** Horror.

**Pairing:** Previous Sastrid.

**Summary: **It had always just been a matter of time. Sam finally snapped. And now everyone around him would suffer for it.

**Word****count:** 1'900 plus something.

**A/N:** This has laid on my iPhone notes collecting virtual dust over the past few weeks and... I HAVE NO FUUUUUUUUUCKING IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON INSIDE MY HEAD AT THE TIME SO I ASSUME I WAS JUST REPEATEDLY MASHING THE MINI KEYBOARD D: This is like that horror movie... August something... So that means run bitches run.

(The only notes there Bible paragraph thing was from Matthew 17:19-21 whatever that means.)

.

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**I Are**

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"Kill a man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill everyone, and you are a god."

-Jean Rostand

.

.

Sam remembered to have read a book once.

Well, he hadn't just read *one* in his *entire* life but *still*, there was just that *one* book, that *odd* book, that *disgusting* book he'd managed to remember in that exact moment.

He'd liked that book.

Really, really liked that /particular/ book, 'cos it had been happy, cheerful, innocent, naïve, sad, humiliating, horrible, gruesome horrific- oh god help me I'm falling I'm falling I'm falling I'm falling-

(His left eye had started twitching rapidly but he did not appear to care nor actually notice)

Sam recalled a sentence there:  
>"He sees the world as a vile circus around him made for his sick amusement only for him to observer and change if he desired. That it why some days, everything goes fine in the world and he goes by without harming anyone, then the next, boredom collects his fucking head and he's transformed into a deranged murderer."<p>

Sam liked it sentence.

("Oh my god! I'm, so s-sorry Temple I thought... Oh god... I never though Harold would... explode hi-himself!")

Where is he?

Who is he?

What is he?

And most importantly, why is there fresh blood on his face, why does the scent attempt to rip his nostrils apart, and why does his mouth taste like someone died in there?

(What is- Oh. Oh God be merciful... Did Harold do what he said he'd d-do? Sam! SAM! Respond to me, for God's sake!")

There is no god, Sam wants to say, and that he's never tasted sake either, but he can't remember how to work his mouth in such ways, not to giggle, even.

Sam smiles.

("Oh god, he's not reacting in any way, I think what he'd witnessed... b-broke him- SAM!")

Fuck.

She's too loud.

Sam made animal noise that erupted deep from his own throat, before it rose and rose and his pitch turned hysterical.

It did not take long before he took hold of the nearest damageable object, buried his fingernails—claws—deep into it and concentrated all his fury on it. There was a scream where the pitch went all mad, and Sam backed away while clutching his ears, drawing out a strange wetness.

"Ngh... Stop..."

He discovered only a second too late that his fingernails were stained in red. It didn't register in his mind that it was his own blood.

The speaking got even louder.

("YOU'RE HURTING YOURSELF SAM, PLEASE STOP!")

Astrid.

Her 'Holier Than Thou'-attitude was getting on his nerves, and Sam growled in agression whenever she neared. Astrid had some issues comprehending that this Sam wasn't a normal Sam and not a bloodhungry lunatic, so she walked over to him anyway, expression growing more and more horrified with each step she took towards her ex-boyfriend.

Then the other girl interrupted in a feeble try to appear heroic, storming in front of Astrid with both her thin arms extended, delivering a certain message: You cannot have her.

Sam frowned.

He did not like being denied what he considered his chosen prey.

He was oh so much *cleverer* than this little whore, but when she took a step towards him and the sound of her breathe became too annoying...

Sam reacted on mere instinct: Took a delicious bite of cream-white skin and just let the sensation burn through his veins before he ripped it off, gnawing at it before spitting out bright red.

The girl stumbled backward, clutching the reddened side of her neck, even more delightful red pouring out from in-between trembling fingers. "You bastard! You could've ripped out my throat, you crazy bastard!"

'Is this a theatre, perhaps?'

With all the crying and screaming and guts staking his flesh, it seemed more like a madhouse.

'But that's fine. I like madness."

It provided safety and warmth, and deleting all importance, empathy and questioning in his shitty, miserable life.

Chewing on his thumb like a kid in distress, Sam turned over to Astrid again, still offended that she hadn't stopped speaking to him and ruining his crazed killing mood.

It was a slow-motion move, just like in the movies. He waited just enough to see her face go from aggression to ultimate horror before he extended the burning hand and set fire to her face, delivering it in the form of a firm and precise smack.

The girl fell to the floor, screaming hysterically. Sam watched, not even seemingly interested, until she died on the floor, engufed in flames and blood.

"Aaaaastriiiid~!" Sam then sang nonchalantly, blood around his mouth, "I see you..."

Astrid paled.

There were no words to say and no apologizes to be spoken. Sam Temple, her ex-boyfriend, had gone completely, raving, mad.

Then she ran.

As Sam stood there, covered in blood, he wondered what the next scene in the theatre would be.

When nothing interesting happened, and the foul smell of burnt flesh became too mad for even a madman to manage, Sam decided to find the next scene himself.

.

A dark form went unnoticed as it took a few carefully-tread steps towards his forbidden destination.

The snores from the monster guard only increased; he hadn't awoken even when Sam stood two meters apart with a can of gasoline in one hand and a lighter in the other.

Sam giggled and was barely able to maintain his sanity any longer, this not breaking into hysterical laughter because of the pure adrenaline and excitment he felt from doing something so horrific. He danced his way over to the sleeping giant, blowing out the lights around him so it became completely dark.

Blue eyes lightened as he—as silently as he could, placed the bloody lighter in Howard's hand. The boy stirred, but did nothing. Then Sam went over to Orc, smiling madly before pouring gazoline all over the sleeping bastard's inhuman body. Like he'd predicted, Orc didn't wake up.

"Ohohihihahaha" escaped Sam, who danced like a retard down the stairs to he came into the cell where his next object of attention laid.

"Sleeping Beauty, where are though?"

"Have you come to save me, Sam, Bringer of Light?" Well well—ironically enough, it wasn't light he brought with him, more like death and blood, like the Devil himself.

Footprints bathing in red.

The first oddity she noticed was the foul smell.

He stunk of dissected corpses.

Sam smiled one of his most horrid smiles and, without pity nor concern...

(She does not comprehend before it is too late)

...attacked her throat, digging his teeth into her mud-stained flesh and ripping several importance veins, the pulse among them.

Her pupils minimized to mere black dots, utter shock and horrific realizion on her face as veins hang out from Sam's mouth as human spaghetti showering in human tomato-sauce.

No sound.

No air to breathe.

No more begging for the psychopathic second half of her split personality to take over.

Sam ate her.

And he enjoyed every second of it, sweet blood dripping down his throat and out from between his teeth onto the cold stone floor beneath.

The wound magically started healing again, and without concern to another human's pain, Sam broke her neck.  
>Jan 01st, 7:29pm<p>

"Our Father, who art in heaven,"  
>hallowed be thy name."<p>

Brittney preyed, attempting to be blasé but fright for upcoming torment krept into her tone.

"Thy Kingdom come,"

Her deformed neck went back to its original shape, and Sam said nothing as he stuck his fingers into her stomach, forcing them in. Never once, he turned away as he broke open skin to get a real look at her insides.

"Thy will be done,  
>on earth as it is in Heav-"<p>

Sam looked remotely sour because of the second interruption, growling in annoyance. "Thought I told you to shut up...?"

"Give us this day our daily bread."

"But I ain't hungry no more."

Sam was getting angry now; it hurt when someone spoke in other tones than the ones that were amusing, and her blasé respect less way irritated him.

"And forgive us our trespasses,  
>as we forgive those who trespass against us."<p>

Brittany spoke quickly, trying to hide the disgust that crept into her voice, knowing God The Almighty didn't tolerate work of the Devil such as hatred towards a fellow human, no matter how bestiale that fellow human was.

But were Sam even human?

"And lead us not into temptation,  
>but deliver us from evil."<p>

"Shut up," he muttered, "Shut up, just shut up."

"For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever."

"SHUT UP, JUST SHUT THE FUUUUCK UUUP!"

"Ame-"

Sam had ripped out her tongue. All those words he did not understand (nor wanted to understand) had irritated him. In lieu of howling, like he'd done last time, Sam studied the tongue, fascinated how little it was in his hand in comparison to what it'd looked like inside Brittney's mouth.

Also that irritated him and as that maddening boredom of his doubled in size, and he threw it across the cell in sudden rage. Emptied for all emotion, he observed how the tongue stuck to the wall for a couple of seconds, then falling down with a disgusting 'slop' sound.

In an abnormal moment of sheer... humanity, Sam vomited all over the ground.

"I..."

Where was he?

"I..."

Who was he?

"I..."

What was he?

"I... are."

Blue eyes went all black again, sick memories vilely slaughtering the last remaining part of a heroic soul.

"God."

What a strange theory.

"Jesus."

Brittney was regaining her tongue, half of it, but she still managed that holy word. It was muffled through, choked through blood and teeth and the stump of a ripped-off-tongue.

Sam tilted his head to the side.

"Oh." He pulled his fingers out from her stomach, "Did that hurt?" he sounded genuinely concerned. "I didn't think it would."

Yet he still wasn't apologizing.

"Y'know, I've wondered—since you're all, y'know, zombie-like, does this mean your limbs reattach? So ripping of your tongue means a new one will grow out, although I've just destroyed the original?"

Twinning his fingers together in fake shyness and badly-hidden excitement, Sam whispered, "Then it'll be a lot of it, ne?"

Grinning with the sheer malevolence and childlike amusement of a boy half his age, Sam screamed out his message, "We'll have a party full of TONGUES and TEETH and FLESH and BLOOD and BONES and all other sorts of delightful GORE!"

"All the red on the grey walls will look so pretty," Sam really did look like Satan himself.

"Red really is pretty, yeah? But blue is still prettier; it's my all time favourite. They say kings have blue blood. Caine, my lost twin, is a self-proclaimed king. I wonder..."

Even more so when he punctuated the vein in Brittany's throat that stopped everything but a macabre gurgling sound.

With his bare fingernails—claws—he started ripping her face apart, pressing his fingers into her empty eyesockets. She cried blood, and looked like a fallen angel. "Smiiiiiile~!" Soon he'd stuck a blade in the corners on each side and craved a smile there.

Brittany didn't hold out any longer. For the first time in her life, she allowed her psychopathic counterpart to take over their shared body. Her eyes were dead as they transformed, got new life, who Sam immediately wanted to destroy.

Drake stated up at him, not understanding, blinking repeatedly like it was all a dream.

Sam smiled.

"Hello, Merwin. Will you come join me in the madhouse?"


	20. Aluminium Cranes

**Disclaimer:** After 100 000 words, I'm still not owning anything of value when it comes to the Gone™ series.

**Rated:** T+

**Beta: **None c:

**Warning:** References towards the sexual nature, and language colourful like a fucking rainbow.

**Type: **Gift to **DreamCatcher96**

**Genre:** Humour, romance, drama.

**Pairing:** Caina, and implied Dram if you use a microscope

**Summary:** They were like Romeo and Juliet, if Romeo had been a megalomaniac with narcissist issues and Diana a pregnant witch with an attitude problem. "Oh Cupid, did you trip and fall when you shot your arrows at us, only to later curse and scream because of the mistake?"

**Words: **3'403

**A/N: **To celebrate hitting 100 000 words (first in the entire Gone fandom 8D) I thought I'd make a fic dedicated to my lovely beta-reader **DreamCatcher96**, who is an angel and I hope you'll continue reading through my stories and fixing my 3287562+9 mistakes in the future too, even if I move to different fandoms~

Set right after PLAGUE. This ain't no AU.

Includes independent!Diana, repeatedly bashing Caine 'cos he's simply ridiculous in this, awesome!Sam (without Ass-turd), Shaekspare refereances, Dekka getting migraines and in the end, sex.

.

.

**Aluminium Cranes**

.

.

They were like Romeo and Juliet, if Romeo had been a sociopathic megalomaniac with narcissist issues and Diana a pregnant witch with an attitude problem and continuous mood wings.

It would've been "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?", but from down in the bed green bushes and a monster of an overgrown garden came nothing but a hoarse "DIANA GET DOWN HER THIS INSTANT."

…And instead of feeling humble that a king had come all the way from his castle to see her, Diana responded by giving him her middle finger and a secure "No." She sighed, "Fuck off Caine, it's three in the morning." She pulled the silk dressing grown tighter around herself, the open balcony door leaving her vulnerable for fresh night air.

"I WILL NOT AS YOU SAY SO CROSSLY, 'FUCK OFF'," he shouted from down there, and from the little light that streamed out, Diana saw the ridiculous red face he'd gotten from crawling around there. It was a long time since he'd done something physically, since after what she'd heard, all he did was sit on his throne all day, eat, sleep and mope in corners about Diana leaving him.

Mad kings are dangerous.

Especially mad kings with broken hearts.

"Go away Caine."

"I'M NOT MOVING ONE INCH FROM HERE, DIANA. I WANT US TO FACE OUR PROBLEMS TOGETHER, AND NOT HIDE IN MY BROTHER'S HOUSE."

"So you want me to come down there so you can kidnap me and take me back to Perdido Beach?"

"YE- NO."

From a corner of the bedroom, Sam stepped forward, grinning while slurping on his coffee. "This is like, better than watching television." He looked a bit sleepy, but the amusement was too much for him to take so he just chuckled a bit instead of being sour.

Diana had agreed to stay with him since he was way too naïve to try something, and knew Caine wouldn't dare trying to kidnap - or rape - her in her sleep when there was another broken-hearted four-bar in her house. Caine was no ballet dancer (thank god - Caine in a pink tutu no thank you) and would've probably made too much noise while breaking in anyway, but with Sam there she felt a bit safer.

Ignoring Caine's continuous talking (did that guy ever shut up?) Diana went and looked over the balcony fence, leaning over it, watching him. Caine was raging on how he'd allowed her to live near Perdido Beach, kicking out the house's former residents just so she would have a bigger mansion than most common folk. He also showed obvious jealousy that she'd chosen Sam to live with, accusing her for cheating on him.

"...although it's kinda stupid," he suddenly said, thinking hard, "'Cos my brother is way to shy to try anything. This must mean you're," a fire was lighted up in his eyes, and all the red flames of red erupted around him, "trying to MAKE ME JEALOUS, AND ARE STILL IN LOVE WITH MEEEE-"

"How do you know I'm not with Sam?" Diana asked, provoking a reaction.

"…What?" it came from both brothers, but as Sam frowned, Caine started scowling.

Out of a sudden, just to shut him up, she had grabbed Sam and making it very visible for Caine when she started caressing him. Sam was completely frozen in her grip for a couple of moments, but when her cold fingers started moving underneath his t-shirt he objected, fighting wildly.

"THIS IS RAPE!" he screamed like a little school girl, and could almost feel the heat Caine's gigantic flames of eternal doom™ nearing him. He looked much like a kid refusing to take on long Johns or something, much to the stressed mother's irritation.

"It isn't rape if you like it," Diana told him in a husky voice, pressing her lips to his neck, feeling how he shuddered against her. When she breathed in his scent he smelled like vulnerability and innocence, but there was also another scent there, one that smelled like ashes and blood and that reminded her of someone, but she didn't remember who.

Diana frowned.

How strange.

And perhaps if she'd not gone through with her plan and stayed and studied it more, she'd found out that there was also a murky smell sex hanging around him.

"STOP MOLESTING MEEEEE~"

Nevertheless, she continued, skilled fingers managing to slip into his pants, not especially far down but still enough to make him stop dead in his tracks, fighting no more. She adored his supposed innocence, feeling how he loosened up underneath her, hiding his eyes from her, but still so obviously enjoying her sweet touches. Diana smirked, liking how his body had stilled, while still responding to her own.

Caine was about to fly up there (don't ask him how) and murder his poor twin-brother when both him and Diana discovered a very fatal thing. Sam had gone out cold.

He'd passed out with a very manly "Durrrrr" noise, currently lying over the balcony like a banana. Diana poked him several times, but he refrained from moving. "Well that didn't last long," she noted.

"Can't believe I share genes with that idiot," Caine muttered underneath his breath, silent just in time to hear her next insult.

"Took more time than you anyway, Mr. Thinks-I'm-God-but-super-innocent-at-the-sexual-area."

That took a while to sink in. When he finally got it, he resembled a tomato. "IT WAS MY FIRST TIME DIANA, YOU SAID YOURSELF THAT I IMPROVED OVER TIME."

"Was my first time too but I didn't sound like a fucking coyote getting tortured to death-"

A roar loud enough to match a lion's came from the first floor and cut off Diana mid-sentence. "Would you _please _be so kind to discuss your sex life elsewhere? People like me are trying to get a decent amount of sleep, and it ain't gonna look good if I don't get that." Dekka stood in her slippers, dark circles under her eyes, dangerously hitting the head of an aluminium bat repeatedly into the base of her hand, pretending it was Caine's head. "Believe me; no one wants to hear that shit. The mental images will give normal people nightmares."

Caine swallowed. Then he put up his high-and-mighty face, staring at her like she was nothing but an insect. "This is none of your business, Talent."

"No it isn't, but you're making it mine by screaming it out so loudly, so it's your own fault."

He fell silent, thinking hard to get a good comeback. There was none. "…Fine. But I'll be back for my dearest queen, mark my words! She shall be mine one day, just wait and see…" An evil laugh followed.

"I'm waiting right now," Dekka said.

Caine stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around again, facing her, eyes twinkling like thousand supernovas, ego just growing bigger and bigger like the sun itself. It wasn't that big, since Caine already believed himself to be the centre of this universe, and his ego had surpassed the entire area of the FAYZ a long time ago.

"You…" it took several moments for him to start talking again, stunned beyond measurement, small stars appearing all around his head. It was as if he'd just received an early birthday present. "You really believe that I will… You're the first one to _not_ doubt my words…"

Dekka yawned.

"You really believe in that self-centred sociopath's dreams of conquering me like some sort of landmark?" Diana asked sharply. For some reason, she felt more offended than usual. Perhaps it was cause she'd seen Dekka as an ally (note ally, not friend) and felt a little betrayed.

"Meh, I don't believe in much, I just want him to get the hell out of my garden."

"Oh." Diana paused, then gave a shrug. "Fair enough."

All the stars that had hung around Caine fell down towards the ground and broke into thousand pieces - at least in his mind. He'd started pouting, shoulder sinking downwards. He turned around and headed towards Perdido Beach, muttering some encouraging words to himself about not giving up. "You'll love me one day," he muttered.

.

.

"I don't even want to be here," Diana confessed, trying to get as far away from Caine as she could. This was kind of a hard task in a small sofa built for four, but somehow, she managed to sneak her way so she sat half on Sam's lap.

"Shut it, this is a great opportunity to heal our damaged relationship, because it is not broken - although you insist it is - but merely…"

"Damaged," Sam finished for him, a tad sour over forced to participate in couple counselling because Diana insisted that Caine would kidnap her if not.

"Thank you Sam," Caine said without looking at him, "yes, damaged."

Astrid wrote something down in her tiny black notebook. She looked up again and nodded, avoiding Sam's eyes as much as possible. This was the second reason of why he had no wish to come back to Perdido Beach - Astrid had claimed the title of the town's only shrink, thus resulting in her helping all the stumbling relationships around there. Well, those who could pay her, of course, so there were basically none except Caine and Diana.

Her own relationship was another thing.

"It seems like you have been going through a rather hard time, both of you," Astrid said finally. "I suggest that you'll try work something out. Caine, what do you feel?"

"Like a little monster is scraping on my heart, repeatedly reminding me of who stole it-"

"Minus the bad poetry, please."

Pausing, feeling a bit insulted, Caine tried to think of something better than to say than the pure truth. Then he gave up and sighed, "I feel like crap."

"Could it be repressed guilt, perhaps?"

"He doesn't feel things like that, he's a bloody sociopath," Sam muttered from over in his corner. He shifted a bit, feeling uncomfortable in the pretence of his ex-girlfriend. He was here to help Diana for Christ's sake, not dwell on the past! But when looking up and meeting the Ice Queen's ice-cold (duh) glare, he looked away again.

"NOBODY ASKED YOU!" was the immediate reply from both Caine and Astrid; however Caine took it to a level further. "One more word, Temple, and I'll see that I won't be getting any nephews anytime soon!"

Sam crossed his arms. "But it's true, isn't it? If Caine was relatively normal he'd felt at least something over dumping someone such as Diana…" Even if his words could be understood in many ways, Astrid took them the wrong way.

"Sam Temple, have you slept with this woman?"

"No!" Sam shouted, shocked, before a scowl returned to his face, "But if I'd did it wouldn't have been any of your buisness anyway!"

"SO YOU HAVE SLEPT WITH HER?" she one hand on her hips now, the other with her index finger in the air as if she was trying to scold him like some sort of disappointed mother.

"I NEVER SAID I HAD!" Sam shouted back, volume rising for the first time.

"BUT YOU WERE IMPLYING IT!"

"I WEREN'T IMPLYING SHIT!"

"MEN! YOU'RE ALL STINKING PIGS! I CANNOT BELIEVE I FELL FOR YOU…" and so it continued, their fighting growing louder and louder.

Caine saw his chance and tried to sneak closer to Diana, but she just returned his careful affection by standing up and walking away. "Told you this was a bad idea." When he tried following her, she stopped, scowling at him.

He just sighed. "'Least let me escort you to the car."

She said nothing, but he did follow her. It was nice enough, him following her for a change. Oh well, he'd give up soon, she reasoned herself with, when he found someone new and exiting.

And when he tried to lure her into the false car she kicked him in the groin and ran like fuck, Sam following soon after, screaming something about 'crazy ex-girlfriends with frying pans' coming after him.

.

.

Caine certainly didn't give up.

"Oh my love, I came for you, but now you're doing nothing but ignoring me, and it breaks my beautiful heart…" he continued singing rather falsely.

Inside, Sam was wearing a pair of fluffy pink hearing protectors while reading a small book on different methods on creating coffee. In his left hand was a smoking fresh coffee cup, and he occasionally drunk from it, all while wearing a pleased smirk. He obviously thought he was such a smartass for wearing them, but in truth, he looked like some ridiculous housemother.

Not that anyone in that house cared.

Dekka crossed her arms, "How long can he keep this up?"

"About half an hour. Happened before. He'll go hoarse, blubber some speech about love, deliver a few quotes and then go home all disappointed." Diana continued to look through the old magazine, receiving great amusement in the comic stripes. Oddie reminded her of Sam, their amount of brain cells being exactly the same. Garfield was Caine. They were both fat, egoistical and kind of evil.

"How sad."

"His love life?" Diana asked, turning a page.

"No, him."

She couldn't help but smile from this.

When the singing stopped and a few hoarse coughs came from the garden, Dekka began speaking again. "You haven't actually tried to talk to him, have you?"

"What?"

"Healthy communication is the key to every relationship!" it came from Sam's lonesome corner.

"Shut up Sam," Dekka said without flinching, eyes on Diana, also ignoring the kicked-puppy whimper that followed. "But seriously, maybe if you tried a little harder, he'll understand it… if you're not interested still, that is."

"_If_?" Diana hissed, the magazine falling on the floor. She sat up, looking quite angry.

"Yeah. I've seen how you look at him sometimes. At least you know he cares," Dekka finished quietly, looking away. Diana didn't know the details of the female soldier's love life, but she knew as much as the one Dekka cared romantically for didn't share those feelings. "Not sure if you care back though."

.

.

After another failed relationship session ("I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU SAM!" "THERE'S NOTHING TO FORGIVE ANYWAY!"…) Diana decided to walk home. The house where they had these sessions wasn't too far from her house, and although she was very aware of her own pregnancy, her belly hadn't turned into a balloon just yet.

Again Caine followed her out. He didn't try to kidnap her this time, but still.

He said nothing, just frowned a bit. "I can't come tonight."

"I don't want you to."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened his again. He simply refused to give up hope, she could see that. "Reason for this is a very important meeting about the working around in town. I'm sorry."

This time she couldn't bring herself to say something sarcastic in reply.

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"Diana, go talk to him," Dekka said suddenly.

"Why would I do that?" Diana wondered, scowling, curling even more up her bed.

Sam answered that one, currently bending over the balcony fence. "He's set up a tent," he said matter-of-factly. "Looks kinda cosy. Can I join him?"

"He doesn't even like you Sam."

All she received was a shrug in return, and when he went over to the door, Dekka glared him back into a corner. For some reason, Diana seemed to enjoy his company, and seemed a lot 'happier' when he was around. If it was their shared love for coffee or the simple fact that Sam was a terribly adorable, even if he was an airhead.

"I won't talk to him," she said. Dekka rolled her eyes and Sam sighed, and it went on like it always did. Then underneath her breath, she muttered, "Not yet anyway."

.

.

In fairytales, there's something magic about the number three.

There was nothing magic about the screaming coming from the couple counselling room, however. Diana didn't bothering being there anymore, all she did was pushing Sam in into the room, slam the door shut and then they forgot all about her supposed session.

Caine stood still beside her, for once not singing sappy songs about love or trying to kidnap her. He hesitated, mouth opening, then closing. Then he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Diana… I have something very important to ask."

"What is it, Caine?"

He gulped when she said his name. "Is there any way… is there any way I could make it up to you?"

"You haven't developed the ability to change time, yeah?"

"No…"

"Then…" she wanted to disagree, wanted to look as cold as possible and turn him down once and for all. But she couldn't bring herself to, because underneath it all, there was a human, and that was a human she'd fallen in love with a long time ago. "Yes."

"How?"

"Make me one hundred paper cranes."

"P-Paper cranes?"

"No… On second thought, make them out of aluminium foil."

"Why?"

With that, she turned around, still expressionless. "Harder that way."

.

.

Caine didn't come that night.

Not the night after that either.

So it was only natural that Diana was getting a little curious, right? Not that she'd ever admit it of course, but still… "Dekka, do you think Caine has done the world a favour and killed himself?" she asked with the breakfast table.

Dekka moved down the two year old fashion magazine, looking much like an adult there she sat, eyebrow raised and bored. It was noted that she despised coffee though, so Diana got that to herself. "I think it's better not to ask. Just let it be for a while. Haven't slept this good in weeks."

"Well, I'm just wondering… But anyway, you'd seen Sammy?"

"No," Dekka said, turning a page, "probably out with his secret lover."

"Sammy has a secret lover?" Diana asked with a frown, finding that very hard to believe.

"No idea."

"I hope he hasn't got himself kidnapped by Caine, at least."

.

.

When she opened the door to her bedroom later that night, it was all dark.

"Hello? I know there's someone there, no use hidin'," she said loudly, feeling annoyance grow when all she got in reply were a few giggles and a big "shush!"

Then, when she pulled out a match and made a slight light creep up against the walls, she felt nothing but pure shock. At least a hundred silvery cranes were on the floor, the bed, some on top of each other some in the corners. In the middle of it all stood Caine, looking very sorry.

Sam had hid behind the transparent curtains, pretending to not existing.

"What the hell?"

"Quickly, finish it!" Sam whispered, still believing she didn't see and didn't hear him.

Caine's hands moved quickly, annoyance on his face, but he managed it.

"There," Caine said, exhausted, but smiling like he'd just accomplice something major, like conquering the world. "One hundred aluminium cranes."

"Thought you didn't know how we made those," she said quietly.

"Sam taught me." Caine's mouth twisted into a sneer, embarrassed that the almighty Napoleon junior had to learn something sometimes.

Diana crossed her arms. "Alright," she said with a sigh.

"So I'm forgiven?" Caine looked very hopeful.

"Maybe. I'll let you around now, as long as your kidnapping attempts will stop." He didn't look too happy about it, but nodded nevertheless. Hesitating, he came closer, and she let him. He just stood there in front of her, breathing a little hard, knowing it was hard to be comfortable around her again after she'd broken up with him.

In the mean time, Sam tried to sneak out of there unnoticed.

"You did a lot more than just teaching him, didn't you?"

Sam hid his red, sore fingers, looking nonchalant, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She looked back and Caine, and saw a happy smile lightening up his face. It wasn't the triumphant one, but a genuinely happy one, for once.

The reason he looked like he'd just conquered the world was because in a way, she was his world.

And when he tried to kiss her, she put a finger to his lips.

"Ah-ah-ah. Kissing will cost you fifty more aluminium cranes."

"…WHAT?"

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**A/N:** I'll take one order of double McCheeeeeesy story, thank you.


	21. Mad Friends :: deleted scenes

**Disclaimer:** When Black Sabbath stops giving eargasms.

**A/N: **No comment really, just the scenes that didn't make it to da' show, either because they were stupid or unneccesairy. Dunno if I can spell the latter, but too lazeh too care. Some scenes might get used in the future though, especially the Drake & Diana ones~

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**MAD FRIENDS DELETED SCENES: **

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><strong>

_**The Almighty**_

_Drake was quiet, that day. He'd been called a sicko today at school, and even though the problem had been sorted out (he'd broken the boy's little finger) he still felt rather odd. Fear was respect, he knew that, but the disgust in the boy's eyes didn't… feel right. It wasn't respect. Hence why he'd broken said little finger._

_He was in a meeting with Dr. Wikse now, and since this incident had occurred, his meeting with the man had increased to five times a week, all school days, one hour per day._

_"So… I heard about your little accident yesterday, Drake…"_

_"Can you really make me… better? Help me?"_

_"Sanity isn't mine to give, and neither yours to receive right now, Mr. Merwin. I'm no god."_

_"Do you believe in god, doc?"_

_"No." In America, you could get fired for expression your opinion on this subject. "But I'd recommend remembering that in distressed situations. I will not cloud your sense of judgement with insisting that you are completely fine. We both know that is not true."_

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_**Spades**_

Spades often signify darkness. And even more often, power.

Power of Darkness then, perhaps? It is ironical since the Ace of Spades is the death card and is power of darkness - everything horrifying such as darkness, death, pain, war, hatred, sinning, and such general gruesomeness. How bizarrely fitting.

All the three main cards in our story is powerful beings. Thus, each one of them is Spades.

There are many translations on what the meaning is, but the most fitting is…

King of Spades means Triumph.

(Triumph? There is no triumph in the mad king's, because he always loses, always, always, always- No. That is common belief (and his own belief, at some point). But who cares what lousy commoners think?  
>You see, although mad, he still has his crown, even if it's full of holes, rust, blood and tears. He also has his precious Queen and Ace of Spades hidden in his pocket. He's ready to rule, to recreate, to smile and laugh again. He just has to become remotely… <em>stable<em>… again.

Queen of Spades means Vulnerability.

(She's always talking about how fine everything is in her perfect little order - she's being used and is using - but in the end, it won't pay up. What she doesn't comprehend is that one day, it'll all be over, because someone might turn on her and she'll be left broken, maimed, or possibly even dead.  
>Her order is imperfect.)<p>

Ace of Spades means Power of darkness.

(This one is quite obvious, no?)

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_**Foeship**_

She's giving him that damn smirk, that damn smirk that makes him want to rip out her tongue and force-feed it to her afterwards, watching as she drowns helplessly in her own blood and oh god red streaming down her face and he smiles and she dies and her rabbit-heart quiets against his fingers and-

He glares.

She glares back.

He hisses.

She hisses back.

He threatens.

And she threatens back.

The war rages on.

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_**Thief Tuesday**_

"I do not take orders from filthy thieves, _Merwin_."

How a name can hold so much hatred was beyond him - and it wasn't his wishing either, because it wasn't fear in the muttered name in any way, just arrogance and… and hate, of course. Why would she doubt her own feelings towards him?

The door slammed shut behind her, shutting off their link and their intense staring contest. She hadn't been her own actions, not willingly, anyway, but still she'd… comitted. Like a servant. A slave.

In certain countries they chop of your left hand if you steal. Then the other if you steal again. What happens if you steal for a third time? …Well, the Queen of Hearts could almost have stomped in screaming "OFF WITH HER HEAD".

.

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_**Fairytale Numbers**_

Take a pack of cards.

There's a king, and there's a queen.

And as the mad king approaches the queen…

They crumble. Just the two of them, alone.

Without Drake, they were nothing. They would have had no food. They would have no one to make the decisions no one else wanted to take in fright it would darken their soul. Drake didn't mind. His soul were already jet black.

.

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_**No Light**_

Drake saw the light shining in Chucky's eyes.

Then it died away, away and away, bright and twinkling like a dying star, hotter than magma, and more gruesome than anything he'd ever seen.

Then it died away, melting almost, till there was nothing left but eternal darkness. It was as if Drake stared too long into the depths of nothingness, he'd become blind.

It suddenly hit him.

Chunk was dead.

How easy it is to take a child's life.

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_**Our Stink**_

Silence now. Only the two of them left to clean up the bloodied mess of general yuckiness on the marble ground.

"Merwin?"

"Yeah?" he replied, hostile.

"Our supposed 'friendship' has a bad stunk to it."

Drake raised an eyebrow. "Either that or it could be the dissected corpse on the ground."

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_**Rabbit Hole**_

Diana lay in her bed, no longer pondering about her odd dream. Instead of dwelling of the past, she kept her thoughts occupied on more interesting topics, something she'd pondered about even before the FAYZ.

Before her world had fallen (down the rabbit hole, consumed by madness; after all, they were all mad there) along with her so-called comrades. It was a nice quiet place, and she thought about fashion, makeup, hair, and such little things that had been on her mind before.

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_**A Serious Joke**_

What a joke. Drake didn't have the guts to kill Caine, less to hurt him, even.

But Drake wandering the halls muttering to himself? Sure the voices didn't encourage him to do something drastic, did they not? Diana had issues imagining Merwin jumping off the Coates building and breaking his neck, but odder thing had happened than lunatics becoming suicidal.

Still, him dying caused her to feel ill.

Something she would never admit was that she needed him.

Diana Ladris needed _Drake Merwin_, for various reasons. And even if someone had held a knife to her throat, she would've never even thought that he was her last remaining source of sanity, even with his crass language and bad insults.

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_**The Silence of the Lambs**_

"It's okay."

The little girl turned his head, tears threatening to escape from the eyelids, a glimmer of hope there that he would stop, which Drake so unsympathetically crushed.

"You may scream now."

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_**Echoes**_

Drake almost threw the clothes in Diana face, although a little more gentle - a little more fearful - than what she'd done with him.

It still sat in his very existent soul - the sight of what the little beast boy currently standing beside him had done to Chunk. Even if the guy was a fat bastard, it still stung, like a bee inside of him. He could've been the one who'd had his brains smashed to nothing.

Drake was a sadist, no masochist. He liked inflicted pain on others, not receive pain himself.

Thus he was rather afraid that Caine would rip off a limb.

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_**FAYZ**_

FAYZ.

Fucking

(There was no prettier way to put it, really. After all, they were fucked, trapped in an upside-down radioactive fishbowl full of mutating animal and an evil blob of green coming up every now and then to make people's lives a living hell. When it was not gormandizing uranium, of course.)

Animalistic

(We are nothing but rats. When humans are reduced to their most primitive, cornered, face to face with death, they show their true selves. The selves we hide underneath all the façades. Our eyes will go soulless and calculating, fingernails resembling claws, feet quick and ready to run. Ready to slaughter anything that come in their way, humans always putting themselves first. There's a reason that when we're close to drowning we pull more and more people under just out of mere _instinct_. Name one reason about how we are better than rats. Silence.)

Yen

(The demons in all of us were well and alive here, having never experienced so many situations to force its host to commit sins. The seven sins in particular - greed, gluttony, wrath, pride, sloth, lust and the most used one here: greed. The desire to have something - or someone - one cannot posses. There weren't many luxuries in their closed-off world. The sins were all connected, triggering each other. If there even is a devil, that is, and not just mere humans…)

Zone

(That still stands there, untouchable. It's a limited amount of space, pushing people into others personal bubbles all while being trapped in a bigger bubble, although that one surrounds all of them.)

Take the word, the FAYZ.

Does it mean _phase_?

Is it only a phase to go through, nothing more, nothing less?

And when it is over, there is no one left?


	22. A Hero and His Horse

**Disclaimer:** Not Californian, nor bald.

**Rated:** T+

**Warnings:** Characters death(s), mentioned blood, bad words

**Beta:** Nope.

**Type:** Oneshot.

**Genre:** Romance and tragedy. Tiny bit of horror.

**Pairings:** Dram

**Summary:** Two lovers, who knew that no matter how far and how fast they ran, their past would always catch up with them and pull them apart. This time they were dragged much further apart than usual, but in one way or another they'd find each other in the very end.

**Words:** 1000+

**A/****N:** Written on an iPhone. Title inspired by Bleach. Cheesy ending is cheesy.

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**A Hero and His Horse**

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There are many paths to Hell.

Drake was walking one of them, one hand in his pocket at the other one tightly gripping a gun.

Roses, in the process of rotting, that had once been beautiful watched him from their neglected places in overgrown Coates gardens, watched him silently.

"It's over Sam," he told the half-dead body on the ground, voice a mere murmur.

"Funny that," the boy answered in the sweetest of of tones, even if he was he was dying, life seeping out of him, taking the form of blood. "I'd always imagined my death to be grand; grander, per ce, but it seems like Death decided it was oh so much *cleverer* to gift me an ironic death. Viewed by my foe and lover."

A breathless chuckle.

"If someone told me I'd die in the Coates parkinglot, I'd laugh at them and call them mad. Well, madder than myself anyhow."

Drake didn't listen to his mad rambles, kneeling beside Sam. The boy shook a little, eyes half-lidded, blood running from his mouth and head. "I was good, wasn't I? Didn't tell anyone squat 'bout cha, no matter how they bribed and threatened. Didn't tell them your weaknesses or your inner ideals and dreams; kept my silence... Which now, I'll be taking to the grave."

Drake cried silent tears of regret. He buried his head in the chest of his angel, watching as his last hope of lost humanity fade away from the Realm of the Living. The tears represented glass; transparent and tragically beautiful.

Just like their tragic relationships and fates; Drake now doomed to walk the surface of the earth alone, wondering about the ifs and hows.

Sam smiled, reaching out and touching Drake's cheek. "You were right, Merwin. This isn't a place for our little fairytale... Never was, but we tried anyway, didn't we? You shouldn't cry because of me; it was doomed to happen anyway. Although I wasn't killed by your hands like we spoke about..."

"...We're gonna kill each other sooner or later..." Drake recalled from a scene that seemed centuries away.

"Yes, just that. But I still died—am dying—in your hands anyway, and that's gotta mean something." Sam looked a tad unsure, and fell quiet. "Please don't cry for little me, Drake. It hurts to see you in such a-"

"I'm not crying for you, idiot, I'm crying because of you!"

"Idiot," Sam said, struggling to breath. "You always were a fucking idiot, and f*ck, I loved you for it. Ignoring the threats like the ass you are..."

"Sam?" Drake said suddenly. "Which of them did it?"

"Zil. A leader kills a leader. Fair trade."

"It isn't fuckin' fair," Drake screamed, his fists interacting with the pavement, "We'd been allowed to be together at last, by your idiotic townie friends, and then... then... The motherfucking Human Crew ends it all. I'll massacre 'dem all, I promise Sam."

Forgetting all about morals, Sam's eyes started twinkling with a devilish light, the side of him that only Drake could bring out. "Kill 'em for me Drake, kill 'em good."

Drake nodded, dead serious (oh, the irony), and held Sam tight until the hero faded away for good.

Then he rose, looking ice-cold and hollow.

He looked up at the darkening sky, smiling sickly, hair hiding his eyes, "I'll see ya soon Sammy, just gotta have our revenge first."

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.

And there he stood, surrounded by death bodies and dying HC members, holding the gun up into the air and firing.

"I got 'em for for ya good, didn't I, Sammy?"

There were running outside, fanatic and terrified footsteps nearing him.

He turned to the door, only to find the Townies pointing their guns at him. It was useless really; you can't kill a guy who has nothing left to live for.

"Lower your weapon," Astrid shouted, storming in with her bodyguards all around her, only to have them gasp and vomit when witnessing Drake's insane body count.

"Oh my god!"

Drake looked bored.

"Merwin," Edilio breathed.

Ah. At last, a sensible human; there were many between those. "Obviously they won't be a problem for ya anymore," Drake said, gesturing to the mangled corpses that surrounded him. "Quite a view, ne? Zil's head is over there, by the way. His head looks quite nice on a stick."

"You're sick."

Drake chuckled darkly, "How many hours did ya use on figuring that out?" He turned a bit more serious, though the clever smile didn't leave his face, "Though on a more serious note, don't try make me into some hero now or something, I don't wanna be remembered for something like that. Instead... Think of it as Temple's last act of heroism. Honestly I'm surprised he didn't die the first time he almost sacrificed himself to save your sorry asses." Ooh, guilt crossed their faces. Served them right.

Most of them had no replies, but Dekka caught up quick. "'Remembering you by'? What does that mean, Merwin, you can't possibly mean that you're gonna-"

Click. Safety off. Drake held the gun up against his own forehead.

"You don't hafta do this man," Edilio said seriously. Astrid looked like a retarded fish, mouth opening and closing. Made her look uglier, if possible. "We can work something out."

Drake raised an eyebrow in disinterest, finger moving, soon pulling the trigger.

Only Dekka seemed to be non-stunned. "Why?" she wondered.

The standard shark grin played on his lips, but didn't reach his eyes. "'Cos I'm Drake fucking Merwin and there's nothing left for me here. I'll see you all in hell anyway, some sooner than others."

Only Dekka caught the pained, hidden message in those words.

'And I miss him, a lot, too.'

Then Drake laughed and blew his own brains out, gone without a word, grin never vanishing from his oddly peaceful face. His bloody corpse fell into a pool of crimson, his blood mixing in with the others'.

After all, it was all blood from sinners.

.

The funeral was quiet, but crowded. They'd even made Sam a chest.

Some cried, even if they didn't know him. Some were in awed silence, other curious, but not daring to ask.

Edilio was one of those silent tough types and couldn't be seen crying. But Dekka had helped him dig that very grave and knew the Honduran had shed more tears for his fallen comrade and friend than anyone here today.

"'Ey," he whispered to Dekka, "Whatever became of Merwin?"

Dekka shrugged, but her gaze drifted to the chest.

"Ah," was all Edilio said.

"It'll be our secret," she said. "Think of it as a last honor to those two doomed lovers. Think of it as a last 'thank you' to Sam, if it makes you feel better. You know he'd wanted it that way."

Because inside the chest, there lay two lovers, hearts not beating any longer, but hearts still belonging to one another.


	23. Rabbit Caught

**Disclaimer:** HAHAHOHAHIHOHA no.

**Rating:** T

**Warning: **language, slash, molestation, Drake, awesome!Caine, mindfuck

**Beta: **i am not on fire (goddamn there's dots between but ff is not my friend today...)

**Type: **Unfinished story

**Genre: **It went from angst to humor

**Pairing:** Dram, tiny bit of Cam ... and Sam's like EVERYBODY LOVES ME

**Summary: ** Come the the dark side, we'll molest you, mindfuck your thoughts and and rape your mind.

**Word count: **around 5000

**A/N:** This starts serious and just get more and more spacey. Hence why I never continued on it. But heck, the start was nice and yeah.

Thank you to (*curses ff net*) ...my wonderful beta~

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**Rabbit Caught  
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"Well well well – quite an interesting occasion, you cowering before me and not the other way around. But I must say, it is a nice change though. In fact, I think I prefer it, as bizarre as that may sound."

Sophisticated language didn't hide the sinister undertone that lurked in-between Caine's words. He clearly enjoyed the dominance.

He circled his prey, footsteps echoing in the massive Coates hall and bouncing off the grand marble walls. Although it had been quite a few days since the adults had vanished in mid-air, the private school still appeared as mighty as before, and Caine was certain that he'd manage to keep his new "kingdom" as clean as possible.

Caine's hands were behind his back in a manner, meaning that the self-proclaimed title as a king was not just frequently used because of his own wishes, but also how he acted. Just being called a king does not mean you are a good one – it is something you is crowned as, and if the ones crowned the king are bad or good is up to the decider to pick. Nevertheless, Caine wanted to keep up the façade of a "good" king.

Of course, it wasn't he who did the dirty work, that crap was left for his minions of lower intelligence, importance and rank. Still, no one ever dared to mutter a word or do an act indicating fraud towards the infamous one of the two four-bars.

"Nothing to say? Ah, _there_..." Caine looked down, eyes closed, and when he looked up his brown eyes glimmered with a fire of malice, "...is another great chance. Silence. Many take it for granted." His smile widened, smile just as sinister as his voice.

"Oh I apologize, are you mad at me? I am not surprised, it _is_ an easy error to make. Then I'd like to inform you that _I_ am not responsible for your little friends' actions. It was them who traded you for this delicate pact for peace, don't you remember? ...Do you want me to make you remember?"

There was a sound of several guns' safeties being turned off, ready to shoot the helpless individual standing alone in the middle of the room. Some sniggered owing to the continuous mocking Caine so nonchalantly delivered, and others stayed silent, waiting for the final decision – was the hero going to die or not?

Diana stepped forward, no longer hidden within shadows, smiling arrogantly as the ivory moonlight reflected upon her grin, "You're not the actual prize, _S_ammy-boy. In fact, you never where, Caine just requested your preten_c_e along with the nourishment _we_ recieved, and y'know what? They got you _so_ easily."

The sniggering increased, laughing of another person's misery, just like a weak individual would.

"Do you know how much they gave us _along_ with you? Enough food for twenty kids to live for one hundred days without feeling pinch of the starving feeling gnawing at our stomachs. That was the deal. Kind of strange, don't you agree? How little you are worth, I mean. For the guys who traded you for freedom, you're worth less than nourishment. Shows that they'd switch you for anything, not caring that many townies will starve to death in the upcoming weeks."

The victim met Diana's cold eyes - midnight-blue met deep brown.

'_Sarcasm is the lowest form of defence,'_ Sam quoted silently.

Impatience sneaked into the air.

"Can't we just finish him off at once?" Drake Merwin was the only one who in that room who found no amusement mocking Sam before his death, at least not at the moment. That was the bastard that had burnt his arms off, and Drake knew how dangerous Sam could be when blinded by rage. He just wanted Sam dead. Now. Drake held up his gun, "I see no use keeping him alive. Let me do it, if no one else gets their hands dirty." He took a new direction, walking in a straight line towards Sam, but invisible arms sent out by the other four-bar sent him back a few meters.

"Patience is a virtue, Merwin," Caine drawled, obviously not astounded over his minion's unintelligence. "I'd prefer it if you didn't interfere, especially if I haven't commanded you to. You see, one of your biggest problem that may one day make you useless to me, is that you don't think properly ahead before you commit an act."

He drew close, volume lowering to the extent that only Drake and him could hear what was being said, "Think a bit about it, Merwin, _what _Sam is..." Along with rage, understanding grew in vile pools of melted silver, making Caine smirked – although a bit slow at times, Drake was no fool, "Yes, exactly. A four-bar. And what, exactly, can we use a four-bar for...?"

"War," he hissed, like if it was the only word he knew.

Caine snapped his fingers in agreement, still smiling. Even if Drake was slightly taller than him, he still managed to appear intimidating despite having to look up a bit. "See? Wasn't too hard now, was it? Never mind that, we can't just chop his hands off, even if that would be satisfying. We need to get his commitment Merwin, and if you'd let me do the talking, I'm sure we could come to an agreement." Drake didn't reply, didn't need to, because Caine had already turned around and headed towards Sam again, Drake staying a few meters behind, ready to attack if called.

"I apologize because of the secrecy, my darling brother, it was a personal issue. But now that that's all sorted out..."

Sam stood, attempting not to tremble, bare, in the pretence of his brother. Bare, in the way that his arms were tied with masses of duct tape on the back, feet tied together in a (particularly big) metal handcuff leaving him unable to move his feet more than fifteen centimeters apart. Bare for attack. His face was damaged because of the major beating he'd received, and his ears also hurt from when Little Pete had screamed his lungs out when the cowards had attacked, Astrid trying in vain to calm him down, unable to do anything against the mob that had taken Sam off guard and thereafter stolen him away.

"You're so quiet," Caine dully noted. "Sad because of the low price we got for you? Or is it the fact that you're a slave to us now?" It was as if someone lighted the heat up a tad in his malevolent attitude, "Or was it because of Astrid who didn't do jack's shit when you were taken away?"

Sam's head jerked up, and under all the restrains, his fingers bailed into fists. The handcuffs rattled as he tried to take a step forward, but just after he'd raised one foot, the sight of five guns being directed his way made him take it down again. "I understand it."

Caine frowned – he'd expected more of a violent reaction. "What? I can't hear you."

He chewed on the tip of his thumb.

"I said, I understand it," Sam repeated, more agonized but also more angry this time. "That they... switched me for peace, I mean. They just didn't want anyone more deaths, and I guess, if I stopped it by... d-dying by your hands, it's worth it." He looked up again with a sureness Drake decided it would be fun to break, if Caine gave him the allowance to.

"And here there is an issue. Merwin, check if he's lying, please."

Regardless of his hatred to those who ordered him something, Drake blamed his own thirst for knowledge and pain when he raced over to Sam. He looked him over, then took a hold of his chin, forcing his head up again, studying him. He made his grip as tight as possible, making small red marks that he would see when he removed his fingers. Murderous, Sam tried to yank his head away and when managing it, Drake slapped him across the face.

"Stay. Still," he demanded in a hiss, thereafter grabbing the side of Sam's face with one arm, the whip-arm locking itself around his throat. Sam was furious, but stayed still, fear being dominant to anger.

Drake smiled with the easy victory but was surprised when he saw no second opinion in Sam's eyes. Under that all that anger, there was innocence, and a naïve belief on plain goodness in the world, which you only found in the mind of a child. _'How delightfully interesting,' _Drake thought.

He let go, turning around swiftly. "He really fucking cares for those rats."

Stroking his invisible wizard beard, Caine nodded slowly, analyzing the whole situation. Then as a yellow light bulb had appeared over his head, he got an instant idea and made a small "Aha!" sound, followed by "I got it!"

"What is it, Caine?" Diana asked, so "interested" she had gone back to studying her newly-polished nails, wondering if the deep red colour really fit her.

"Well we need to give him a proper welcome, don't you think?" Caine grinned like the Cheshire Cat, walking towards Diana and putting his hands on her shoulder, rocking her back and forth quite a few times before turning to the uneasy audience. "I mean, we must show that we're not completely barbaric, right?"

The king had decided, and turned to the people left watching. Some of them were still wary at Caine regaining his sanity, not burying himself in madness provided by the Gaiaphage, but most were just happy their strong leader was back. That meant Drake was no longer in command, and even the lowest of low thanked god for that.

"I want Louise, Jack and... Penny to wash him, feed him and make him acceptable for me to see in an hour." Caine pointed at the people he'd chosen for this task. "I have important matters to discuss with my darling brother and I want him all sparkly clean."

"Like a dog," Penny giggled sickly, appearing to be one of the few that didn't make a big deal out of that particular order. Louise appeared like she didn't care, and Jack trembled while throwing scared looks over at Sam.

"But-"

Caine looked long and hard at the one that had disagreed. "This is an order. I expect you to follow it, no exceptions." Then the calm façade returned, "Then, get moving." He clapped his hands together, pretending not to notice as Diana stepped up by his side.

"I'd never thought I'd say this, but for once I'm agreeing with the psycho – we should kill him as soon as possible, not treat him like a friggin pet... like a dog of some sort. A dog with fire arms and a bad temper."

"Dogs don't bite the hand that feed them~!"

"Shoving food down someone's throat doesn't count as feeding, Cainey-dear," she replied in a sickly-sweet tone, making him raise an eyebrow suggestively till he understood she was playing with his emotions again. Pretending to not have noticed the little game, he continued.

"I know what I'm doing Diana," Caine said arrogantly, "You should trust me, and maybe one day, I'll be able to trust you too. That would be something, eh?"

She huffed in response, walking off. But before Drake disappeared, obvious upset that his newly-polished gun hadn't been used, Caine called his name, "Merwin. I have a little assignment for you..."

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.

Jack didn't say much as he carried Sam – who had gotten a nasty kick in the stomach by Drake in case he "tried something" – bridal style down the hall, trying to ignore the glares cast his way. People here obviously didn't like Caine's decision, but it wasn't the king they went against at the moment – no one was stupid enough to do that – it was the people doing his dirty work.

At least he walked with Penny, whose sharp tongue could make some people crying for their mothers. But that wasn't the real triumph card, that was the power to summon monsters that everybody knew of and respected. Pennywise the Clown, for an example.

"Typically Cainey. He has these great plans, but he never tells us the details. Like in what room we should clean Sammy-boy here," Penny said, afterwards delivering a bitchy hairflip taught from cliché girl movies. The nickname was adopted from Diana, who she considered her nemesis, but such was not said out loud.

"You speak as if you know him," Louise said with disinterest.

"Oh y'know..." Penny took it as a compliment, and waved it away. "God you're making me all blushin'! Don't go sneaking up in other's romance lives Louise-dear, go get one of your own." She winked, obviously pleased with herself.

Louise rolled her eyes, continuing. She didn't care for boyfriends and makeup anymore – what good would this do her in a time like this? But of course, she hadn't dropped the concealer and mascara. What's a girl gonna do? "We could use one of the deserted bathrooms. Like, the one that that Charles kid had before... vanishing," she suggested in a blasé tone.

Penny opened her mouth to speak, "Well I for once think that-"

"I d-don't know," Jack stammered, not really noticing that he'd cut her off since he preferred holding his attention on Louise instead of the arrogant girl or the hurt four-bar in his arms. "They say it's haunted... I don't like haunted places much."

"No one asked you, nerd," Penny hissed. Just to fuck with the computer genius, she said just as emotionlessly as Louise, "I think that's a great idea! Let's go there now! Louise, you'll show us the way~!"

They continued down the hall in silence. Whenever they passed a few random Coates kids they recived some ugly looks, but most threw their heads in Sam's direction in an interested manner, like they'd adored to get their filthy little hands on the weapon of a boy.

That was it with Coates folks – always merits, merits, merits. Most of the "friendships" on those who had stayed at Coates were simply political resources to get higher in rank when you knew the right people. Someone got it naturally, like Louise because she was a natural master on blending in with her surroundings and prove useful. Bug had to work for it, having a superpower and all, but his snotty-boy attitude pissed everyone off, so he'd always had issues being on Drake and Caine's good side.

"He's awfully quiet," Jack noted dully. "Not even fighting."

The fifteen-year-old in his arms didn't say anything, just had his eyes closed as if he was sleeping. Or, it was quite hard to tell since half his face was disguised by messy auburn hair. His breathing was regular, a little ragged maybe, but regular.

"When you say it that way... He's kinda cute. Not in a sexy way and crap but I see where he got his goods looks from..." Penny stood over him and smiled sadistically. "He'd make a nice... ah heck, what did the older students call it? Boytoy?"

"C'mon. It's just around the corner, and we'd been there already if we'd hurried up a bit and not talked about how good-looking pretty-boy over there is."

"If I didn't know better Louise, I'd thought you were a dyke or something. Too bad your adventures with that Frederich dude votes against it~!"

You don't keep secrets on boarding schools, at least not among each other. If you do one mistakes of sleeping with someone several years (decades) older than you, everybody knows it the next day. Louise had done that, and had gone out easily, since no one had tattled on her. But it couldn't stay that way forever.

Too bad after a small fight with who she'd considered her best friend, the secret could stay a secret no longer, and just as her friendship with said friend her reputation was temporary lost, pushing her into the unpopular zone. That was two weeks before the FAYZ had erupted, and although the Coates kids were trapped in an upside-down fishbowl, that didn't change the judgement teenagers have for each other.

So Louise decided to say nothing.

"It's in here," Penny said, smug because of Louise's defeated silence.

Just as she opened the door, she almost fell backwards with a suprised scream. She thought it was a ghost.

But it was something worse - it was Drake.

And he didn't look too happy.

"Is this your room, Merwin sir?" Lousie asked politely. He didn't even bother look at her.

"We didn't m-mean to intrude-" Computer Jack's trembling hitch-pitched voice on the other hand, annoyed Drake and he cut him off.

"Shut up, I don't fucking live here. Far too simple for my taste. I'm just here to watch and make sure you don't drown him."

Penny tried to calm herself and gave him a passive look. "Alright then. Jack, lead him in," she ordered, as if she was the leader of the trio. When Jack passed, Drake shoved his face up close to his and sneered like an animal, daring him to say anything. He glared at Sam's limp body, and was the only one who saw that the hero's eye cracked open. Drake sneered at him as well, and Sam closed it, quickly. But for some reason Drake didn't say anything.

"So how we gonna do this?" Penny said. "Strip him, yeah?"

Computer Jack went all red.

Even Sam twitched.

Lousie was the only one doing something remotely productive, starting to full the bath tub up with semi-warm water. "Someone take off his clothes," she said simply.

Nobody moved. Not even Penny, who had seemed so keen on the idea before.

Drake rolled his eyes, "Just dump him in the fucking water-"

"I can walk m'self," Sam suddenly mumbled, standing up as if nothing had happened.

"Weren't you supposed to be asleep?" Penny said sourly, a little hostile.

She hadn't forgotten that this was the guy that could prove to be a threat later on, but it just seemed dimmed, at least, since he was under Caine's mercy. Those who were in that category were usually too glad to live to try out any escape attempts. Sam didn't seem happy though, just exhausted and quiet. Not that it bothered her - a calm four-bar was better than an angry four-bar - but it was highly unusual, and caused her to frown. Was Sam planning something? This had been the townies leader after all, one who could end them if he choose to. But she'd heard that he was a pacifist and didn't enjoy killing. This meant he was a goody-two-shoes.

Fair enough.

Sam hadn't answered, but just when he was supposed to climb into the bath, Drake violently shoved him in. "Don't be all arrogant Temple. Don't forget who is in charge here."

He ended underneath it all, struggling to maintain enough oxygen as soon as he returned up from the water. He shivered - it wasn't that warm, and besides... "Merwin you son of a-" again he found himself shoved down under, accompanied by Drake's hysterical giggling. That was a future homicidal maniac alright. Sam almost didn't have time to swallow a lungful of air before he was shoved down again, those thin fingers burying itself in his hair and dragging him up and down like a puppet on strings.

Allowing Sam to breathe properly for half a minute, he turned to the stoic crowd. How he could torture someone without raising an eyebrow was beyond them. "'Ey, instead of standing like there a mindless group of gorillas, get me some presentable clothes. And if you wonder what kind of clothes, I 'ave no idea. Just something Caine _motherfucking_ Soren will think is presentable, or whatever." Then he went back to amusing himself by "washing" (or repeatedly pulling him under water) Sam.

Lousie was the first to find something, returning in less than fifty seconds. "Here," she mumbled, holding up a nice black suit.

"Drop the jacket and you have yourself a deal," Drake said with a small smirk. He pulled a panting Sam out of the tub. "Dress."

Lousie hurried out of the bathroom, just in time to have Penny come screaming "I FOUND THIS REALLY NICE PINK OUTFIT-!" before the door was slammed shut. Computer Jack, who had hid in the shadows, shook his head.

Inside the bathroom, Drake didn't allow Sam more time to start getting up. So he took matters into his own hands.

...Which meant to rip apart Sam's clothes, starting with his shirt.

"Hey! Let go of me, I can do it myself!"

Drake growled, but did let go. It was hard when Sam was fighting so much anyway. He sat down in a corner, crossing his legs into a yoga-postition and waiting impatiently for Sam to finish. "Well? Hurry up then, if you insist that you can do it yourself."

Sam wanted to stick out his tongue and the other boy, but refused to be that childish. For some reason he took all his anger out on Drake, just because he had an excuse to hate the bastard. But he did undress, heat rising to his face. "Can't you look away for a second?"

"What, ya' shy or something?" Drake tilted his head to the side, giving his his middle finger. "Like I care. I'm not letting you escape."

"I won't escape, I'm just..." Sam sighed, forehead ceasing up. He started undressing, and he was in his boxers, he frowned. "Where's the..."

A smirk made itself known on his nemesis' face, who had never stopped watching him. He wasn't bad looking either, especially not with those wet pair of boxers sticking to his legs and showing off every damn part of him... "There's none. Ya hafta be naked under there, unless..."

"Unless what?" Sam asked.

"Come 'ere."

Tense, Sam made his way over to Drake, only to find himself turned around and dragged down on the sadist's awaiting lap. "What are you doin'?" Sam spat the question, trying to turn his head around so he could glare at Drake until he was nothing but a smoking pile of ashes. His whole face burned.

"That should be obvious. I'm humilating you," Drake said simply. His hand travelled to where no hands should be, releasing a few _squak_s from Sam. And humilate him he did, because Sam was blushing and protesting weakly, the tentacle threatening to go lower doing no good for his pride. How dared the bastard do this to him? He had no right!

"Perrrrrvert," Sam growled. "Stop molesting me." Then he delivered a perfect punch, hitting Drake's chin and sending him backwards. His hold on Sam loosened, allowing the four-bar to get the fuck out of there. He fell forward, slipping on the wet floor and landing on his face, all while Drake sent curses after him. Sam got up as if nothing had happened, brushing dirt of himself. He tried to ignore the sniggers that came from Drake's direction when he changed from his naked pride to the full suit. The pants were plain and perhaps a little too tight, although the ebony transparent-ish shirt was quite long so it prevented Drake from staring at his ass all day, thank god.

Sam held up what seemed like a grey-blue rag, looking a little down, "You ripped hole in this t-shirt, and it was my favourite."

"So?"

Sam threw the shirt at Drake's face before running like Satan was the one following him.

He ran past Lousie, Computer Jack and Penny like lightning, all of them just standing there like "What?" for a moment before Drake rushed past them, yelling something that sounded like "TEMPLE YOU BITCH!"

Sam had no time to look back, but his will to escape reduced for each new face he passed. They all looked as if he'd never escape. They looked as if he was going to die. It wasn't that odd, since they could hear Drake shouting promises of torture in the background.

But Coates kids stand together, and he hadn't expected someone to put out a foot and make him stumble, crashing into a wall. Drake was there in a second, dodging the kicks and punches thrown at him, but when Drake caught his wrist, he immediately knew it was over. His eyes widened and a grin stretched across Drake's lips. Then Drake pulled him up from the floor, grabbing his throat and smashing him in the wall, holding him above the ground. Sam kicked weakly, but hit nothing, trembling in Drake's hold.

Drake was about to punch his face in when a familiar voice prevented him from doing so.

"O Merwin dearest~!"

Caine Soren strolled down the hall, followed by two female minions, his arms behind his back. Drake made sure to let down Sam immediately, and the olderst teen struggled to breathe properly, eyes glued on his twin-brother, who happened to be in a lovely mood.

"I was just peacefully inspecting the area when I heard the commotion..." What a twisted, gruesome smile he wore. "Ah, brother dearest! Didn't expect you too be readied this soon... Your hair is still wet... Merwin, you better take care of that, or he's ought to catch a cold, and we simply _cannot_ have that!" There was a dangerous warning hidden among the sophistication. He came closer and ruffled Sam's hair. "Ah heck, forget it... Just meet me in my office in ten minutes, alright?"

.

.

Sam wondered if Caine had chosen this office just because it was very high from the roof to the ceiling and made the one entering feel as small as possible.

"Well well well - we meet again," And then..._ 'This is becoming a problem,'_ Caine thought. He was too small to fit in the chair so he had to sink down and tap his feet across the ground to get it to turn. He got up quickly though, happy to see that Sam still looked miserable. "One and a half minute too late, tch. I don't hope this will become a norm."

"Look," Sam said, frustrated, "If you're going to kill me then please get it over with already."

"Kill you?" Caine faked a baffled look, and laughed. "I don't want to kill you, when did you get that impression? Oh Sammy-boy... No, no no _no_ you're my long lost _brother_ and I will allow no such thing! And I think you're quite wonderful, actually." He came closer, circling around his darling brother, admiring how he looked. All dressed in black you could actually mistake his less than decent looks for something more! They were brothers, after all, and even if Sam wasn't half as smart (manipulative) nor attractive (selfish) as Caine, they were still bound by blood. "Why else would I give you my finest silk clothing and allow you to live despite my minions' obvious disagreement?"

Slowly, he was twisting Sam's mind.

"I like you, even if others... like your little friends down in Perdido Beach... don't."

He knew that all the more broken and betrayed Sam was, all the more easier to bend his mind.

Sam's fingers curled into fists. "They... did. It. For. A. Reason." It was all so forced, becoming unnatural in his mouth.

"_Do_ feel free to share that reason, then."

Silence. Utter and terrible silence.

Sam fell on his knees. "There is none," he finally admitted.

Ah.

Acceptance - the first step in the process of healing.

Of _forgetting_.

"I have nowhere to go," Sam said, looking down.

Drake, who watched from the sideline, was impressed on how gifted Caine was at the area of manipulating. Even after witnessing it a thousand times, it never ceased to amaze him. Not one bit.

Caine held out a hand, diguising his smirk as a genuine smile. "You have here. Get up, brother. No one who shares m'blood should be kneeling."

Taking his hand, tense, Sam stood up again.

"Will you join me, brother dear?"

Sam shrugged. "As I said, I have nowhere else to go." He looked lost. Lost and exhausted.

"Splendid~ I will get a room ready for you in no time." Caine happily gestured to a few girls behind Sam's back, winking at them. They giggled, running off. "And Merwin will show you to your room, won't you, Drakie dear?"

There was a look of honest suprise on Drake's face. He just stood still for a moment, before reacted, eyebows drawing downwards, "Wha-"

"Of course he will," Caine said with a smile, laying one arm over Sam's shoulders. Sam felt a bit uncomfortable, but was lead away by the furious Merwin. "And you will behave, won't you, brother dear? You're one of us now, after all, and that's not something to take for granted. If anyone gives you trouble, just tell them that the punishments will be severe, delievered by king Soren himself." Sam failed to notice the sinister undertone in this statement, näive and kind, as always.

"Yeah..." Sam gave him a shy, tired smile, "And So- I mean Caine?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks..."

"It was nothing~ What's a king without a monarch, after all?" And as soon as Drake had managed to shove Sam out the door, Caine rubbed his hands together. This was far too easy! He started laughing again.

Then a minion interrupted his evil dictator moment. "What if someone tells him that the ones that traded him for peace were the spies from the Human Crew?"

"Nobody will," Caine said, smiling. "Not as long that I'm around. Make sure to spread that message, Bug."

"Noted, king Soren."

When he turned around, a sadistic grin grew on his lips.

"This is going _exactly_ as planned."


	24. Gunpowder Kisses

**Disclaimer:** PFFFFT.

**Rated:** T+

**Beta: **None

**Warning:** Kisses and guns

**Type: **Drabble

**Genre: **Romance, drama

**Pairing:** Dram, and I suppose one-sided random!prostitutexDrake

**Summary:** The hitman still didn't know why he kept the prostitute around.

**Words: **995

**A/N:** Inspired by some pic I saw on Tumblr and game _L.A. Noire_.

Set in America during the 1900s or somethin'. Might get a darker sequel later.

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**Gunpowder Kisses  
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"_Bein' good isn't always easy_

_No matter how hard I try_

_When he started sweet-talkin' to me_

_He'd come'n tell me "Everything is all right"_

_He'd kiss and tell me "Everything is all right"_

_Can I get away again tonight?"_

"Son of a Preacher Man"; Aretha Franklin

.

.

Drake was fairly used to dealing with prostitutes.

He had acquaintances that owned brothels with the high-class quay in this very city, and had ended one too many lives there because of his _peculiar _line of work. He set on explaining this to his comrade, who only gave a small laugh - a terrible, low-pitched little noise.

"Then why do you keep him around?" Albert asked, interested. "If I recall correctly, you're not too god with romances. I heard rumours from a good friend of mine of what happened to Violet Rose."

Bad at romances was an understatement.

Usually those who ended up being a nuisance - demanding more of his time AKA falling in love with him - soon found their brains stained into the carpet of some cheap downtown hotel room.

"Laid off some extra cash on the desk downstairs and I never have to deal with her again," Drake said, quirking his hat downwards so it hid his eyes. "And I don't know. He's not anything special. But the kid's alright, I'll give him that. So I keep him around"

He gave a shrug, counting the money he'd just been offered. And that was only a quarter of the price he'd soon get his hands on.

"Sure you haven't caught something from the cheaper districts and it has gone to your head?" Albert mocked him.

"Shut the fuck up," Drake sneered. He stood up, gesturing towards the waitress, "We're done here." Shoving his hands down his pockets, he sneered even louder as he noticed the lack of cigarettes. Must've forgotten them at _his _place again.

Albert smirked, searching through his wallet to pay for their tea. A Japanese brand, if he recalled correctly. "My my, it wasn't intentioned for you to get mad. Our business continues still though; I hope?"

Thing about Albert was that he knew perfectly how to treat his circle of "friends", and Drake was one of the easiest to contact and deal with but the hardest to read. Drake hated him, truly did, but cash always made his pretence bearable.

"'Course it does. There are only 'bout four names left," Drake answered nonchalantly, disappearing into the busy streets filled with people of all kinds. The summer sun made him hot, and this helped making him change route to Sam's place again.

.

.

As he gazed on the naked body beside him, only covered in almost transparent white sheets, Drake still didn't know why this one was special.

Perhaps he had developed a soft spot for whores after killing most of the ones he'd touched.

_'Nah.'_

Drake practised his aim and blew up a bottle, causing the bits to fly everywhere. Not that Drake cared - he'd rented this room and put emphasis on who he was and the whole 'not-be-disturbed' thing. The tiny French owner was still giving him shocked looks every time there were no dead bodies in the room.

"Merwin," came a slurred call from the bed, the idiot just having woke up. He dragged himself out of the dirty bed covers, yawning. "Is it morning?"

"No it's afternoon, Temple."

"Oh. Thought I told ya to wake me up earlier," Sam said and rubbed sleep out of his eyes. He got up and searched for his clothes, finding one of Drake's shirts among what lay scattered on the floor. He shrugged. Drake didn't seem to mind as he wore it.

"And what difference would that make?" Drake asked, shooting another vodka bottle. "I told ya to stay in this room_." 'So you stay in this room.'_ Any smarter human being would've gotten the message and shut up. But not Sam. Oh, never Sam.

...Drake had never considered the possibility of this being one of the reasons why he was so fond of the male prostitute.

"Yeah but I haven't checked on my old mother for a while~"

"Your mother tried to sell you and your brother to a wine house in an attempt to get some more beer. I don't know why the fuck you-" another bottle exploded "-insist on being nice to that old hag."

"Someone has to," Sam muttered, stretching out all over the bed. He looked horribly sexy while doing so, and Drake watched him, knowing he could take him anytime he desired. Sam belonged to him, he'd made that clear. He didn't seem to mind much though, just smirked whenever Drake got extra possessive.

"You like it when I'm nice to you," Sam mumbled, poking Drake's nose. "I've let you stay on my hotel room for over a month now - won't you grow tired of me soon?" So the bitch knew who he was dealing with.

"I'm still not finished with my list, y'know that," Drake said, pointing towards the all pictures that hung on the ugly green walls. Most of them had a red X across them, obviously telling Drake who he'd finished.

"How far are you on your list now?" Sam asked, lighting two cigarettes and handing one to Drake, so that Drake could feel his taste one last time before considering the unspoken offer. _'You can stay if y'like.'_

"There's still a few left," Drake mumbled to himself, recharging his rifle, sucking in nicotine.

"Hn. My bed is always warm," Sam said, stretching out on the bed. Their room was a mess, floor filled with empty gin bottles, gun parts, pictures and used clothes. It smelled like incense and gunpowder. And when Sam got up and kissed Drake, the sand-blonde hitman swore Sam taste like gunpowder as well.

His body was full of marks of their rough love-making.

"But you're travelling to another city soon, aren't you?" Sam asked, putting out the cigarette.

"..."

Drake brought Sam's fingers up to his face, kissing them one by one.

"Temple. Come with me."

Sam grinned and pressed his body onto Drake's, "I get no roses or rings?"

"Nah. Wouldn't be useful. That's why I brought you a gun instead."

Sam's grin widened, "Sweet."


	25. Mirror Mirror

**Disclaimer:** 'Dis ain't the author of Gone™; too much of a wannabe accent - so calm yo' damn titties.

**Rated:** T

**Beta: **None

**Warning:** dark, creepy

**Type: **Oneshot

**Genre: **Tragedy, horror

**Pairing:** Creepy mentions of one-sided CainexSam

**Summary:** There's nothing quite brotherly love. Caine kills Sam, no poison apples involved.

**Words: **2'351

**A/N:** Originally titled 'The Narcissist'.

And yes, Onyx chapter V is on its way, filled with torture, betrayel, broken hearts, and all that good shitz.

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**Mirror Mirror**

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_"Now, quick, child, run! Run away, hide! In the woods! Anywhere! Never come back! Now go! Go! Run! Run! Hide!" _

-The Huntsman, Snow White

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"Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

_Dark-brown hair. Dark eyes. A dark smile._

Caine dragged his silver finger over his reflection, watching how it started to change when he'd muttered those words. It was like liquid, whereas the mirror was a silver pool where waves dashed against each other from all corners, creating a new image. When the water calmed - calm before the storm - he looked back at someone who definitely wasn't him.

_Auburn hair. Blue eyes. A despaired look. _

"What do you want?"

"No need for such hostility," Caine said and laid his beautiful silk coat at a nearby bureau; also taking off the crown he'd gotten crafted for himself long ago. No need to appear majestic anymore. "Why, people have been killed for that." He batted his eyelashes, mocking the ghost in the mirror.

"I'm already dead."

"Exactly. Though that does not answer my question, nor stifle my curiosity. Do you remember what I asked of you just now, brother dearest? I know you did." He came closer to the mirror, smirk widening, "I know you hear everything, even if no one else can see or hear you. Does that make you feel lonely? I sure hope not, you got me, after all. Stuck there forever... Does that sadden you, Sammy?"

Sam grit his teeth together and he gave Caine an impolite sneer. He also smashed his hand against the invisible wall that separated him from the real world, making it a sign of defiance.

This didn't go unnoticed.

Brown eyes flashed dangerously. "Sam, I'm beginning to think you don't want to play it nice." Again his hand touched the glass, sweeping them over the smooth surface... 'Till he stopped with Sam's hand and his nails made small _tap-tap-tap!_ noises. "Perhaps keeping you around wasn't such a good idea after all... The only thing you do is bitch and moan and it's starting to bug me, especially when I treat you with utmost respect."

Although their hands were at the exact same spot, although on different sides, Caine could not feel the warmth of Sam's skin. Nor could he see that his brother's chest moved. It didn't made him scared to communicate with the dead, oh no, he found it fascinating.

With his free hand, he grabbed an instrument on a table. Then he drew it, a golden knife, creating a mark across the mirror, eagerly waiting for the reaction.

And a reaction he got. Sam's fingers immediately went up to his ears, trying to block out the horrible sound. A cut had formed across his face, thin lines of blood streaming down his face. Soon his insides started hurting as well and he gasped out some horrible choked noise - "STOP!"

"Oh? What is the magic word?"

Sam wasn't gasping for oxygen, because he was dead. But the pain - which was very much real, no matter how dead he felt - made it hard to speak, to move, to... "Please, Soren! You're killing me!" His volume reduced soon, however, voice a mere whisper, "Please... It hurts so much..."

But the king was as cold as ice. "Will you behave then, brother of mine? Speak to me with well-deserved respect and always be polite? Answer my questions? Be honest? Never sin?"

He crossed his arms, those two last words unnecessary and prude, coming from a tyrant, but he didn't have it in him to care. In his twisted mind, Sam was the bad one. Sam had failed, and although Caine could respect him as a warrior, he had no respect for him as a human being. And why would he? Sam was dead, been killed off.

"I promise."

"Excellent~ Now, where was I? Ah yes, I had a bad day today, dearest twin-brother." He sat down in the couch. "A very bad day. Had to publically execute a few rebels to show them who are the real boss around here. It's been more and more rebels these days; they're giving me, the poor leader, a constant headache."

Sam said nothing, still recovering from the pain.

"So I thought you could cheer me up a bit." His mood became considerably lighter as he glanced as his trapped pet. "Tell me, what have I taught you these last weeks? Say it to me."

"I am nothing," Sam began, voice numb.

"Good, good, please do continue."

"I am no comparison to you, my dearest brother," he couldn't help but grimace at the words, but with the dangerous glance from Caine, his expression immediately cleared. "You're beautiful. I am ugly. You're powerful. I am a squib. You're God. I'm a... a..."

"Yes?" Caine didn't look angry, merely interested. His eyes were half-lidded and he rested his head on his elbow like he was in deep pleasure.

"I'm a demon; an abnormal incident of existence; a freak to nature. Not meant to exist. Not meant to be." Although there was no need to, Sam being dead and all, he took a deep breath. "Oh brother dearest, you fill me with white light. Although I must only stand in the shadow of your grand being, I am forever thankful for you kindness and the fact that you never turn your back on me no matter how little I deserve of it." Sam's lips became a thin line as he was finished, knowing very well what the next line was, but not managing to say it.

"Oh come on, Sam," Caine crooned, "You were doing so well. It's only three words, yes?"

"I l-love you," Sam stammered.

"That's a good boy. All you need to do is gettin' rid of the stammer." He sighed, "And I guess it's true, eh? I am a saint. And Sam?"

"Yes?"

"From now on, I'd like you to call me master when speaking to me."

Sam looked disgusted. "Alright..."

Caine raised an eyebrow. "Alright what?"

"Alright _Soren_." Bitterness managed to creep into that last word, and Caine caught it.

He turned to Sam with a raised eyebrow. "Let's try that again, brother of mine," he said unpleasantly.

"No. I'm not calling you master, or king, or anything like that. I died fighting you and giving that up for nothing would've been useless and dumb."

"Listen," Caine sneered, "I kindly asked you to refer to me as master, what-"

"Is that what you made Diana call you after she sucked your cock?" Sam asked crassly. It was out of character for him, but he didn't have it in him too care. There were no fucking Astrids around to correct him and he knew exactly how to piss of Caine by hitting verbally him where it hurt the most.

Darker than black.

Sam couldn't think of any colour that could describe Caine's now soulless eyes. He took a step backwards, and gazed upon a silver candlestick. Something red and evil sparkled in his eyes, and Sam understood what he was going to do a second too late. "No Caine I'm sorry don't-"

Had he been a little quicker - though his mind was slowed down from living being nothing but a reflection for so long - it wouldn't have happened.

He managed to choke back the shout of pain as Caine cracked long rips in the reflecting surface. Sam wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. But it wasn't over yet; because Caine was never merciful and removed a shard.

A horrible scream tore itself from his throat - and yet again Sam wondered if he was truly dead. Was this Hell? Demons and fire and cackling all around him, burning him, tormenting him, laughing at him... It was terrible, but more so was the pain. Oh, the pain.

Caine had cracked rips (that magically repaired themselves after some time, even if the scars never left Sam) in the mirror before many times, which hurt like a goddamn bitch no matter how many times it got, but Caine had never removed a shards from the mirror before. But then again, Sam had never been so wonderfully direct _out loud_ before either.

Sam fell on his knees inside the mirror, the misty background turning red, blood dripping from the cracked hole in the mirror. It couldn't be more than a mere inch, yet Sam looked like he was about to faint from pain. But one cannot faint when one are dead, so he was stuck in this sort of miserable existence. It didn't take long until he bathed in his own blood, never going empty.

"_CAINE_!"

And the youngest twin didn't flinch.

"Never mention that name ever again, do you understand me, Sam?" Caine demanded calmly. It wasn't really a question, and his eyes were half-lidded and unforgiving.

Sam bashed his hands against the invisible wall that kept him from ripping apart Caine's skull. This desire was not said out loud either, but he'd gladly tell just to stop the pain. "YES! Y-Y-YES I UNDERSTAND, P-PLEASE-"

"No you don't," Caine said calmly, ignoring the vivid screams and continuous spasm from his agonized brother. In fact, the scream pleasured him in some sick way - it wasn't the screams themselves, oh no, he was no sadist, but it was a reminder of who was the real king here.

Sam blinked, tears- no blood streaming down his face. His eyes had began to sink back into his skull and his skin had start to turn blue, soon to be rotting. Caine could smell it, but still didn't move.

"Master," Sam whispered finally, giving up. Bones was beginning to be visible on his left arm, something small and blackish eating up the remains of his flesh. Caine didn't question it, and didn't demand more although he could have, mostly because the sight made him start to lose appetite.

He put back the shard and all the red vanished, and Sam didn't look like a zombie anymore. Though his skin had several cracks in them as if he was a porcelain doll of some kind. He sure was an adorable plaything; Caine could admit that.

Not that it changed anything.

"Good boy," Caine said smugly.

"Thank you, m-master."

Caine held out his hand. "Kiss it," he demanded, and although he couldn't feel it, took some satisfaction in the way Sam kissed the glass. Caine nodded and left.

Sam touched his skin. One shard fell off, hit the misty ground and became a thousand pieces. Sam drew his hand away like he'd been burned. It hadn't hurt. It hadn't hurt to fall apart like that.

He wondered if the real falling apart had happened a minute ago, because then, the pain had been real.

.

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"It's over, Soren," Edilio said quietly. "You've lost."

Caine laughed loudly, the laughter having an insane pitch to it, "Perhaps I have. But not yet..." He ran down the hall, whole body shaking with anticipation. He'd lost it completely when his kingdom had fallen. Hadn't expected the rebels to be so many. Hadn't expected who he'd considered loyal to betray him without a second thought.

Footsteps and angry shouts followed him, but he didn't care.

If he was going down, he would leave a far more bitter memory.

Slamming open the door to his office, he locked it and headed over to the large, magic mirror.

At Coates so long ago it had been used to be right behind the principal as he delivered thunder speeches while the child had to look at its own miserable form while being yelled at and humiliated. It hadn't really bothered Caine though, but he'd heard Drake muttering about how he despised it.

Today it kept his brother's soul trapped inside it.

"Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all," Caine chanted, sounding like he was drunk. He grinned like a maniac, not flinching when the someone managed to ruin the lock and kick the door open. Didn't even turn around to greet them.

"Your tyrant days are over, and your kingdom is lost. It's over," Dekka said. They all held a gun pointed towards him. Someone of the smaller ones' shook, bitter and hateful expressions on their faces.

_'Good.' _Caine smiled bitterly._ 'Learn them to hate early, that is what creates little madmen, and little madmen are needed for this new world to cope.' _

"Now be a good king and come along. If you don't-"

"Stupid fuckers," Caine muttered, looking for something in one of the drawers.

"You've lost Soren," Edilio said tiredly, like an old war veteran who'd fought one too many battle, "Give it up."

"There's no giving up. Either you win or you die." Then his face lighted up, and he found it. He turned to the crowd, holding up the candlestick. "Stop looking at me funnily, keep your eyes on the mirror."

"Astrid?" Sam shouted, astounded.

"S-Sam?" several voices said at once. There were so many questions in their eyes.

Sam smiled like a child, waving his arms up and down although shards were falling form his body. Nothing could stop him from feeling ultimate happiness, nothing! "God you guys I've missed you so much-"

"And now that we've had our friendly reunion," Caine said loudly, "Allow me to break it. I lost, I die. And as my special property, he's coming with me everywhere, to Hell or beyond."

_Literally_.

He cracked the mirror with the candlestick, bashing it against the mirror several times. Sam wasn't smiling anymore, he was screaming.

Blood poured out.

Caine was completely covered.

Someone pulled a trigger.

Didn't matter who, or what it shot.

Because Caine drew the mirror shard deep into his own chest, and heard how the pleasant sounds of Sam's demise came from beside him. The townies were too slow, too shocked over seeing their leader die in such a horrible way. Caine continued to smash the mirror until there were nothing left.

Several more gunshots, killing Caine completely this time.

And then bloodied Sam fell forward, landing on top of his brother, dead, finally dead.

_'How fit. The villain and the hero dies together,' _was Caine's last thought, and he died with a sick smile.


	26. Dies Irae

**Disclaimer**: Bitch _please_.

**Rated:** T

**Beta: **None

**Warning:** Hinted non-con, and a bad word or two. Unstable!Caine. Creepy fic is creeeeepy.

**Type**: Challenge

**Genre: **Tragedy, dark romance

**Pairing**: ?/?

**Summary: **(Blank, you have to read to find out)

**Words**: About 500

**A/N**: This is a fifteen minutes challenge on my iPhone, who works like this: come up with a plot and write it within ten minutes. Not all that complicated, but it's _hard_. Tried before, failed. This was the only decent try, although quality is lacking sorely. Despite the title, this has nothing to do with any other of my stories.

Also, in answer to that butthurt anonymous reviwer; I do all sorts of requests, of course, but I (as many others) were having exams at the times, and school before fics. I rarely wrote _anything_ in the late spring; and it was explained on my profile. Because you hide behind the safety of anonymity and left no way to contact you, I couldn't explain this, though thinking that you might have some patience. So there's no need to leave a review sounding like I'm an arrogant devil 'cos I didn't indulge your wish, if you were that desperate for me to write Drekka you couldn't at least sent me a PM, and now I have no desire to do the request when you're going to act like that ヽ(´ー`)ﾉ Watch some MLP and see if that helps.

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**Dies Irae**

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If one should go on and describe the relationship between Caine Soren and Drake Merwin, there are certain words that would be suitable for the task.

One of them being the obvious: hatred. It grows so deep in both boys' souls that to simply remove this emotion is unreachable. Hatred is not to be confused with love, of course. There isn't love between them, even though Caine sometimes sends longing looks at his male comrade that _has_ to be something else then pure hate. The fact that the stare is responded with disgust, but also a certain helplessness from the other teen does not lighten the situation.

Diana Ladris; the person who first noticed this 'tension' between them. Her first reaction was shock—as expected—before gradually turning into something more like fear. Why? You'll see in a minute. She doesn't like it.

But just knowing that she isn't the one Caine wants anymore, hurts. The thing he had with her was an obsession. To have something you cannot have, if so.

_'Yes,'_ Diana's brain tells her. _'Caine always had a thing for the unreachable.'_

And now he's after a monster; an insane invalid that will not hesitate to claw Caine's eyes out when the slightest opportunity unfolds. But there are no oppertunities, because Caine watches Drake intensely, never missing a beat, guarding the psychopath's every move.

And it's driving Drake crazy. More than he already is, anyway.

And Diana knows that too. It was the main reason why she left; his lack of sanity was having the same effect on her.

This isn't supposed to happen! Caine is supposed to be the leader, dammit, not some sap being obsessed with his henchmen. Caine was her cliff, the one that was supposed to treasure her every movement. Not like this; left defenseless without him (his powers, mostly) and at Drake's flaring temper. But Drake leaves her alone, now, mostly.

What can you say? He respects her, because he thinks she went trough the same shit he's currently going trough.

So she left. Ran away, if you will, because she couldn't handle it. The tension in the air, the way Caine sometimes managed to get _too_ close to Drake.

Diana left Coates, and joined Sam. Thet were vary of her—still am, because she never told anyone why. Except Sam. For some strange reason, he seems to understand, if not just a little.

She left Drake too. Because when the last barrier—the one that kept Caine from doing whatever he wanted to his new victim—broke, Drake was left defenseless against Caine's sick, twisted fantasies.

Surprisingly, there weren't many attacks from Coates anymore.

And only Diana and Sam knew why.


	27. The Dolls

**Disclaimer:** When Disney makes a movie featuring a same-sex couple.

**Rated:** MA

**Beta: **None.

**Warning:** HUGE FEAR SPOILERS. Then there's het smut, character deaths, bad language, gore.

**Type: **Birthday gift~

**Genre: **Dark romance, horror.

**Pairing:** Caina, mentioned Dram

**Summary:** Loyalties change. Gaia decides they need several more freaks on their side since the rift between those inside the FAYZ and those outside has steadily grown wider, meaning that it will be easier to recruit. Easily acquiring Sam with Drake's help, Gaia thinks she'll get Caine over with Diana's help. But Caine won't follow without a fight, a fight of a different kind, per se.

**Words: **about 6'000

**A/N:** HAPPY (super late) BIRTHDAY JESS. So DremCatcher96 had birthday a while ago, but I was busy working, travelling around and sleeping so I couldn't give her anything on the exact date. But, managed to squeeze out some semi-plotish smut, so here you go, my precious! Not sure if this makes sense though.

Naked babies are huge turnoffs, so no naked babies in this fic.

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**The Dolls**

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"The days grow shorter. I am soon at the height of my power, and then the FAYZ walls will fall."

Gaia sat on her stone throne. It was the first words she had spoken in days, and the rest of the quiet group devoted to her wishes had only spoken in quiet murmurs if they had spoken at all. The sudden break of silence made some flinch, but others stayed as stoic.

"We already have assembled quite an army," Gaia continued in her hitch-pitched voice.

She was highly beautiful, Diana knew, but she struggled to see herself in that cruel face. It was already established that Gaia grew faster than a normal baby, and after days being trapped here she'd turned into a full grown woman. Her hair had turned bright while (she guessed it was because of the radioactivity) and reached to her hips, and her eyes was in a radioactive sort of green, just like Nerezza's had been.

Again, although this was her daughter, the feeling of motherhood had vanished piece by piece as she understood that her child no longer existed inside of the mineshaft monster. It had been a particularly hard blow when Gaia had forced Diana to call her master. Penny's endless taunting didn't bother her - not after Gaia had threatened to make a necklace of Penny's eyeballs if she didn't stop messing with the ranks.

Diana looked over them, wondering how it all had played out.

Drake stood there, leaning against the wall, eyes half-lidded. His tentacle was wrapped around Sam's waist, not squeezing, but in a protecting manner.

She still had issues getting over it - the fact that the heroic boy had stood up against Gaia and instead of being rewarded with a swift death, for his bravery, Gaia had played on irony and made him one of her slaves. She'd used Drake, creating a romance that would've never survived, but Drake hadn't really seemed to mind much.

His obsession with Sam had always been a little too crazed to be purely platonic.

After Gaia had completely destroyed Sam's mind with the use of carefully placed words, physical and mental torture among other things, he didn't spoke much. Gaia had used every crack in his strong façade to completely _shatter_ him, bringing up doubts and weaknesses and his past. It had taken days, but when Sam finally cracked, no one could put him back together.

Sam's brilliant blue eyes were devoted to his master, but tortured. Diana knew there were giant holes inside his head; holes were webs had grown, stopping Sam from seeing his deleted memories. He knew about them, but didn't possess the strength to fill them in after Gaia had twisted his mind. There wasn't much will to fight it from his part, because Gaia had lured in a theory there, and Sam thought he'd lose Drake if he resisted.

He mostly kept close to Drake, at the moment resting against his chest, seeking comfort from the zombielike psychopath.

Diana pitied Sam.

"When, master? We're hungry and exhausted," Penny rasped. Diana rolled her eyes and smirked, knowing Gaia didn't take kind to begging when she'd given in yesterday. Roasted coyote made by Sam hadn't been a five star meal, but it had stifled the hunger, for now.

Brianna also lay rotting on the floor after a rescue attempt gone wrong, so that didn't exactly increase anyone's appetite. In a few days the stink would become unbearable and one of them had to touch the half torn-apart corpse of a supposed superhero. None had volunteered so far.

"_You're_ hungry and exhausted," Drake retorted, a bit late. His brain still needed some time to make a good insult.

"Oh shut up, you zombie. Wouldn't be too glad if Sammy-boy died, would ya now? You'd have no one to screw that didn't object." For good measure, she made Sam's eyes vanish in Drake's view, making blood run out. Sam saw the blood as well, but didn't flinch. The tentacle tightened around him, but it just relaxed him.

"Quiet, you fools," Gaia demanded, no longer amused by their antics. Penny felt a surge of power directed against her and gulped, bowing her head in an apology. "There are still threats out there, although it certainly lessened when Uncle Sammy later joined our team because of some persuasion and his undying love for Drakie."

Among the innocence in her voice, there was cruelty. Gaia liked doing these things.

"What threats, master?"

Gaia's attention snapped back to Diana. "Why my dearest _papa_, of course. He's a four-bar also, and having him on our team would mean one less freak fighting against us."

Diana guessed that made sense. She just didn't expect it to hurt so much.

"Sam. Give us a report on your brother."

"He fought with us when I came out here. Didn't say much, mostly kept to himself. Nearly murdered anyone who mentioned Diana-"

"Ah! A weakness. Great work, little one. We'll exploit that when we'll bring him here, just like we lured Sam here with his hate for Drake and turned him to the better. Isn't that right, Sam?"

"Yes master."

Gaia giggled, a sound that had a hysterical touch to it.

She did that a lot, but it sounded even creepier now that she was a woman. Thank god they'd gotten her some clothes, or Drake would have to go around hiding his eyes all the time, because boy did he lack experience in everything when it came to the opposite gender. It must've been hard for him, having a master of that gender he despised. Though Diana did not pity him - he deserved all the hardships in the world.

"I got it! Like Drake lured in Sam in, Diana will do the same with Caine! It'll be wonderful. We'll be a family. A sick kind of twisted family, but a family nonetheless." Gaia smiled.

Diana blinked. She knew she had nothing to say in the matter. All this doom talk wasn't doing any good on her brain anyway - Gaia had told them in detail how she'd kill the offspring of world leaders for fun.

"Right, _mother_?"

It felt so wrong hearing that from her lips, but Diana nodded anyway.

"Fine. We'll have a little feast to celebrate, then you'll get Caine to come here."

"Of course, master," Diana replied. _'If you call half a roasted sawed-off coyote foot a feast.'_

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_"I've got a bad boy and that's alright with me  
>His dirty laundry is nothing that I can't keep clean<br>And when he needs an alibi  
>He can use me all night<em>

(Oooh) What's the fun in playing it safe?  
>(Oooh) I think I'd rather misbehave<br>Your way

I'm just a bad girl, that's why we get along  
>Won't make excuses for anything I'm doing wrong<br>I'll pull the trigger in a flash  
>Watch out honey, step back<p>

(Oooh) What's the use in playing it safe?  
>(Oooh) Wouldn't you rather misbehave?<br>My way

Oh baby show me the money my evil friend  
>Let's go to Mexico, drink margaritas in sin<br>I'll light a candle for good luck  
>Now come on baby let's...<p>

(Oooh) What's the fun in playing it safe?  
>(Oooh) I think I'd rather misbehave<br>Our way

We're simply mad  
>Simply mad"<p>

"Dirty Laundry"; Bitter:Sweet

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She knew he hid at Coates. Drake had told her where Caine was; probably tortured some kids to find out. Cowering like a child on their old school, so unlike a true king.

It was a wonder he managed to hold onto the crown for such a long period of time before he'd fallen, just like Napoleon. The French emperor had fallen into British custody after several defeats, she knew that. Caine was captured by his own bitterness over Diana's choice.

Teaming up with former enemies from Perdido Beach in a last attempt to save the world when the FAYZ doom would fall - yes, it was all very unlike him.

Walking through the hallway, she shuddered slightly, never having experienced Coates so _lonely_. Not that the last week in Gaia's hideout had been particularly social, what with her overpowered child, a demented monster girl, a psychopath, and said psychopath's tortured lover. Still...

There were memories sitting in the walls. Good ones, bad ones. Diana tried her best to ignore them all.

She arrived at one of the places she believed Caine would be.

The janitor's room looked exactly liked she last remembered. The window was still shattered. Bed was still undone. The teddy bear that had been Caine's favourite during his insanity lay thrown in a corner, and was still drenched in blood after Chunk's accident. Caine had nearly had a fit when she'd suggested washing it.

It was all during the terrible sickness. That was what the Coates people had called it afterwards though.

But there was no Caine there. She guessed he had no real memory of the room, because she couldn't remember having met _him_ there, just his other twisted personalities.

Suddenly she wished it was the child version she'd bring to the Gaiaphage. That had been so much easier - Caine had been unreleased then, extremely strong, and yet so naïve. He had been loyal to Diana, but no other. It would've made everything simpler because she didn't have to deal with the Caine that had broken her heart.

He hated her now, she guessed.

But hate was as strong as love in many cases, and if she could force out a reaction that was a mix of those two, she might get him to join their little take-over-the-world parade.

Caine lay in his bed when she entered, sprawled across it like a child. He looked even worse than he had after visiting the Gaiaphage's cave for the first time, cheekbones sunken in, looking starved and deprived of sleep. He reminded her of a skeleton with a futile body longing for eternal sleep.

But her concern was swallowed up by her inner emptiness like a snake waiting in the corner of her soul room, fangs bared and ready to destroy any sort of weakness. Raping her thoughts with ridicules arguments that what she was doing wasn't right, but necessary.

"Caine."

Her voice sounded tired. Tired of life, just like his sleeping expression. But he did sit up. Blinked a few times, looking around. His eyes stopped at her.

Next thing that happened was that she flew across the room and crashed into a wall. Diana had never experienced the hold of his powers, taking away her control, suddenly intent on crushing her windpipe. She had never experienced the crushing power he possessed and suddenly realized why Drake had been so terrified to touch him.

It lay in the air; the instinct that pushed his powers to such limits; improving his reflexes. He also had a snake coiled around him, she realized, a freakish monster that wouldn't let Caine die, not even by his own hand.

"_Penny_."

His voice was also tired, but also clear and strong. His shoulders were hunched up, brown eyes regarding her limp form with venom. It was only the tiniest bits of sanity that stopped him from crushing her with a bookshelf or something, or make her choke herself with her own hands.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was calm and thunderous like a mighty Norse god.

"Oh f-for f-fuck's... sake... Soren..."

He froze. Sniffed in the air as if someone had let a drug gas into the room, making him hallucinate shit.

No one spoke to him like that but one person.

"Diana?"

And then he turned so small, so unsure, so astounded, and the hold that would've made her insides collapse loosened enough for her to breathe. It was still there, lingering in the air all around them. He'd grown stronger and colder. Their sudden reunion didn't shatter her expectations though, because he still hadn't dismissed her.

Caine breathed hard.

"Fearless leader," Diana said, pulling herself up. It hurt, but she'd manage.

"What are you d-doing here?" he stammered.

"I've come to get you."

His eyes widened. Then, he grasped the meaning of her words and his eyes narrowed.

"They twisted your mind, Diana," he told her, expression grim.

She didn't want this. "Come with me, Caine," she tried again, even more tired this time. Couldn't he just see? They'd lose anyway. At least this way, maybe Gaia would leave them alone while destroying the world. In her head, it didn't sound half as cliché as it came out, because it was truth, pure truth. "_She_ wants it. Our _kid_."

"That isn't our k-kid." His stammer had made her raise an eyebrow, yet he went on, mask never faltering. "That thing is the Gaiaphage, which _annihilated_ our child, Diana. The fucking Breeze - probably dead by now, rest in peace - told me what happened to Temple. I'm _not_ ending up like him. You'll have to drag me there screaming."

Diana sighed. She blocked out his words - she had to. Or she'd go mad.

"It isn't like that, Fearless Leader."

She walked straight to him. He grew tense, and she felt the slight touch of his powers warning her to stay back without actually using much force, but walked straight past it without faltering. When she stood before him, expression like stone, she leant up and kissed him. He said nothing, but started shaking, knowing he wouldn't be able to hold back for long.

"Caine."

That was all it took.

His strength shattered like hail drops that had been frozen in the air, now plummeting to the ground, creating some sort of invisible dust cloud over the room - an atom bomb of weakness. And then his arms were around her, clinging to her, needing her, breathing in her scent. Their lips met and it was hot and wild and _desperate_.

There were ill smells and salty sweat and regretting expressions and hurting holds and foul thoughts and they didn't give a rat's ass about anything in that moment.

In the midst of it all, he decided she was his, in that moment.

_Forever_ and _never_, right now, right here.

It didn't take long before they'd made it to the bed, and his sanity screamed at him to back out of it, his instincts to flee far away, his reflexes to kill her, but only managed to tighten his fingers' hold on her as if to kill. Inside his head, foul things went on, hastily making him recall her leaving him, the rumours of her affair with his twin, the betrayal he'd felt, and all that palaver.

But his darkened heart only pounded too loud for any of it to have a long lasting effect, that traitor, and he threw his crown off along with his responsibilities. Fuck it. If he was going to die, then he was first going to live.

Already she was stripping, and her abused body pressed towards his. Some sort of grunt escaped him, and he raged, hating how she could do this to him while at the same time longing for the sensations he'd convinced himself he'd never feel again. _"L-Ladris...!"_

"Hush."

An odd sensation came over him as she ran her fingers through his hair, and despite his strong will he relaxed in her arms. It was all blurred and vague, but his mind picked up images of her doing the same long ago.

"It will be alright."

Then he let go of his thoughts and gave in to her again, breathing quickening as she worked on his night shirt. When it came off and her cold fingers graced his skin, he fell back, breathing hard.

No!

He wouldn't let her dominate again!

Switching their positions without any major fighting from her side, he started planting kisses all over her neck and jawbone. He wanted to taste her one more time without perfume or second thoughts. He deserved to be on top now; after all he'd been through. He could be selfish, even with her. No, _especially_ with her.

There were times where he'd promised himself that he'd savour every moment he spent with her intimately. This was of course before the FAYZ, before death and starvation, before he learnt that he had to exploit every pleasure to its fullest because he could die any day.

Instead of that, he'd removed her shirt and flung the bra across the room, and was now caressing her flat chest, saddened to see that she'd grown thinner again. Sadness fuelled rage, and the rage fuelled passion. His bent down and sucked like he knew she liked it, nipping a little at a hypersensitive nipple until he'd made a mark. Pleased with it, knowing that he'd done something that couldn't be erased from her mind, Caine planted another proof on the other.

More sucking marks occurred right after, and he swung an arm around her back, bringing her closer. Diana, still a little aware of her doings, used this to sit up, now on his lap. She rocked her hips back and forth, liking the surprised moan that escaped him and that she still had it in her. For now they were just dry-humping, but it created a certain heat between them, making her flush and desire him.

It was then she discovered how much she'd missed having sex. And not just sex either, but sex with him. First, she'd saw it as a thing she needed to do to continue living, to continue having him around, and it was only now she discovered that she liked the pleasure.

Caine wasn't experienced, but his pride stopped him from being too eager like a stupid boy puppy doing more bad than good. Instead he was a quick learner, observing her every move and every moan, remembering how to create pleasures for both of them.

He leant down to kiss the hollow of her neck, tongue lapping out. His deep brown eyes were fixed on her however; filled with nothing but lust he would unleash soon. It didn't scare her to see him like this, if anything, she adored it.

This was no child, no twisted second personality.

This was Caine Soren, the person she followed to when power-hungry, the person she had treated when ill, the person she had fallen for.

This was her Fearless Leader.

"_Caine_," she moaned, watching him tremble, allowing herself a smirk. He returned it, hungrily tearing her already torn skirt of, and then getting his pants off as well. He paid no attention to the panties other than getting them off, wanting to get inside as fast as possible.

"Diana," he breathed, and she understood with the mention of her name. She gave him a nod in agreement, watched him fling both his and her underwear across the room. He kissed her again, hands already reaching down to touch her down-under.

She kissed back. It was long since she had been uncomfortable with this.

Noticing that she wasn't quite as wet as he'd preferred, he got a small bottle of lube from the drawer, coating two fingers with it before he started rubbing it against the outer parts. Soon one slipped inside and Diana flinched - not because of the pain, but because it was such a long time since he'd done this.

"Continue," she demanded.

Caine cast a look at her, then smirked again, and started wiggling around inside her. Her breath was immediately gone. Using his other lubricated hand that he'd coated himself in with; he started to rub two fingers against her clit, watching her face grimace in pleasure.

Making sure she was wet enough for his liking, he positioned himself above her. He made sure to rub his hardened member against her for a moment, bringing her pleasure as the head against the nub and the folds, bringing her even more pleasure.

"Get on with it, Cainey. I haven't got all day," she commented, but there was a recognizable twinkle in her eyes that told him she was joking.

But that was all he needed to continue.

Flashing a grin as he watched every emotion that flickered across Diana's dark desire-riddled gaze, Caine pushed in, groaning as he did so. He kept it slow to minimize the pain for her, even if he knew Diana would never cry out when he pushed in. _'Too damn stubborn and proud. Just like me.'_ He kissed her forehead before gritting his teeth harder towards each other, though still grinning. _'Guess that's why we get along.'_

He moved a pillow to her back to make her more comfortable. While she adjusted, he admired the legs that were wrapped around him. Caine allowed a tender hand to slip over the milky skin there, gazing lovingly at it, remembering the jealous looks he'd received when hinting to the townies what happened at the island.

He turned to Diana, and wasn't surprised to find her eyes narrowed in concentration. A sweat drop ran from her temple, and it reminded Caine of a small crystal, twinkling in the morning light streaming out of the window where the curtains hadn't been dragged completely over.

"_Move_."

And he did. He hissed in pleasure as he felt how tight she was around him, how perfect her inner walls was as he slipped past them, and he wished he would always feel this whole. But he had to pull out, and thrust back in, looking for her g-spot. His cock soon slipped past it, and made her quiver all around him.

That, and the sight of her stretching backwards with her mouth open in a silent cry was enough to make his cock throb inside her.

Caine increased his tempo now that he'd found her buddle of nerves, slipping past them again and again. The reaction never lessened, and his toes curled in pleasure as he buried himself deep within her. He started slamming himself into her now, liking it rougher. Their relationship wasn't a gentle one, not one for angels. They were demons, both of them.

_'The bad girl chooses the bad boy.'_

He grinned, but it soon fell victim to a long moan. Diana's legs clasped harder around his waist. The whole bed was shaking, and he certainly hoped no other person adventured into Coates at that moment. He started fingering her again, rubbing his thumb against her nub, increasing her mind-blowing pleasure.

She moaned, and reached out for him. He took her hand, thinking she needed to hold it hard to get back at him, but was surprised when she leant it up to his cheek instead.

"I love you," she breathed.

The small confession sent him over the hilt. He choked on air and spilled himself inside of her with one last thrust, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead as he threw it backwards, moaning loudly. He breathed hard as it rocked through him, trembling with the power of his orgasm.

_'Fuckers who chose abstinence have no idea what they're missing out at. Sinners have the most fun.'_

"Caine," Diana whined, reminding him that she hadn't experienced it yet. Dazed, he nodded, pulling out and spreading her legs further. He acted like a mind slave, knowing what to do when she just mentioned his name in a certain way, but also decided he didn't care.

He started tonguing her, tasting her, while his fingers did their magic further up. Her sweet moans accompanied him breathing through his nose, and it was all worth it as she shook. He saw the muscles of her clit flex, knowing it would've made him cum hadn't he already lost himself when she'd confessed, and heard her cry of release.

With the last of his strength, Caine pulled himself up to lay beside her, still panting. They just lay there for a while, riding on the after waves of their pleasure, staring at each other.

After a while, realistic thoughts returned, and they couldn't keep the façade on forever.

"I'm scared," Caine whispered.

Diana felt sorry for him, because she knew he'd changed his mind about joining her to the Gaiaphage's cave.

"It'll be alright," she soothed, and was reminded of his mad days at Coates a year ago. She'd have to sooth him then to, after all the bad dreams and the hallucinations that hurt him so. This was a whole new layer of madness though, and a part of her despised him from being so weak, so _human_. "We'll start over, after the fall of the world."

"If there'll be a world left," Caine answered, his voice quivering.

Diana continued, glad she had gotten to him. "We'll start a new beginning, Caine. Get a house. Start a family. I don't know."

He gave her a glance that said 'I don't want anymore fucking kids thank you very much'. But no harsh words left him, and he sunk into her grasp. "I'm so tired Diana," he muttered.

"I know," she whispered and kissed his forehead. "And it will be better when you come with me."

"Really?"

_'No.'_

"Yes."

.

.

Hours of silence later, they'd both arrived in the cave.

"So you came... father."

Caine stiffened. "You wanted me here I am. Diana convinced me to come and serve me, promising you'd leave us alone afterwards."

Gaia smiled.

"Of course I would. But... You're not clean yet, Soren. I owe you nothing. You may have produced this delightful body, but nothing else. So I need to remove the dirt that covers your mind."

Caine paused, eyes widening. "What-?"

Mental tentacles drilled themselves deep into Caine's mind, twisting and turning. If he could speak, he'd begged for mercy from the merciful thing that had eaten their daughter, but out of his mouth came only screams.

"You defied my wish, Caine Soren. You are no slave of mine, not yet. For this insolence, I will take your eyes. When I'm finished with you, you'll be cleansed, but without sight as a constant reminder of your sins in your former life where you possessed a strong will."

Diana had already closed her eyes. _'No,'_ her mind went, _'Please no.'_

"Mother." Gaia spat the word, but a sadistic grin was still playing on her face. Somehow her voice drowned out Caine's tormented screams. "You shouldn't disagree so. I can read your mind, y'know. You will also be punished for thinking thoughts other than adoration of me. You're not useful anymore, _mama_."

And then agony was upon her, drowning her in it, and she met his eyes, and she saw the Caine she was dying, and she was dying with him, and they were both-

"_No_."

Diana blinked, and through the tears, could see a form advancing at Gaia.

There was a slight hissing noise, and Diana could hear the shock there. She was released and fell to the ground, Caine with him, blood streaming out of what would've been his eyes and now looked like coal. Diana managed to press her poor body for some strength and rolled over to him. He shook his head like a kitten who hadn't opened its eyes, expression tortured, and when he felt her close he clung to her like he had so many times before.

"D-D-Diana," he whispered, terrified.

"It's alright," she whispered back.

"I can see him. I can see him right now. That isn't our c-child..." Again with the stammer. But the usual comment wouldn't slip past her lips because Caine's eyes resembled dinner plates. "It's a monster there Diana, with green tendrils everywhere and huge, red eyes in a mass of jelly-like body. There's no child in there, she's not, she's not... she's not alive..."

It stuck her like ten knives into her heart, which then twisted and turned until she was sure it would be ripped from her ribcage. "I know." Had she? Had she known this entire time? _Yes_. Inside, she had.

Her girlie had died the moment the radioactive liquid crawled into her nostrils and mouth.

"That's a lie, Cainey. I'm still you lovely daughter, deep inside. How else could I've been this strong?" The Gaiaphage - not Gaia, this was a monster - imitated a sweet voice, but with no eyes, Caine did not become fooled by the innocent expression. He only heard the morbid amusement in the undertone of her speech.

"You're n-not."

An inhuman grin that made it way past the Gaiaphage's eyes took her expression, and Caine could almost hear the ripping of the flesh. "But dear papa... I'm just a teenager though. And as you know, and as I know, since I stole some of mommy's memories, teenagers have tendencies to be rather violent. Out of the two of us, you're the respectable adult here, papa. That means you'll have to deal with my rage."

"**Stop it**."

And the Gaiaphage stopped, but only from shock. She turned around in slow-motion.

"Sammy-boy," the Gaiaphage sneered, and the demonic double-edged voice became even scarier. "Are you defying me also? Is this a rebellion? Do I have to torture Merwin to get you to sit down and shut up like the dog you are? Shall I cut off one of his fingers? Or his entire human arm, since he doesn't need it? How about his tongue? He doesn't need that either."

"Enough."

"You love him," the monster sneered, "with all your heart."

"Yes."

"You'd die for him."

In the corner, Caine spoke, "They are holding hands in their head. It's a chain between them, and it's so dark, a brownish colour like faecal in the sewers, and it's gruesome and horrible and inhumane. But some places, it's so bright I can't stand to look at it." Words stumbled out of his mouth and he just couldn't stop.

"Shut up, you rat," the Gaiaphage screamed, then turned to Sam again. "I'll kill him! I'll kill him over and over and I'll make you watch and drive you to insanity because of the love I forced into your broken mind!"

"Love isn't dark, Gaiaphage," Sam said calmly, "What you planted in my mind would be your own demise."

"Drake," it thundered, green eyes glittering with rage, "Stab yourself."

"No."

Yet another refusal.

"PENNY!"

Drake stepped aside, raising an eyebrow, and the body of the monster girl lay in the corner, her insides scooped outside her body. He hadn't gone easy on her, and had no intention of hiding it.

The atmosphere in the cave changed in tact with the Gaiaphage's worsening anger, and it was as if green tendrils drew out to impale Drake's head. "You're a fool," she whispered, and her voice had changed to one where you couldn't decide which gender this _thing_ belonged to. "A _goddamn_ fool."

Then the Gaiaphage decided something else and the tentacles went for Sam instead, suddenly visualized, existing in open air. They swung through the air straight towards him. Sam wasn't slow, and a light in his palms grew bigger and bigger. The Gaiaphage smirked, ready to take on anything he had.

The tendrils would've pierced right through Sam hadn't it been for Drake's rescue attempt. They drilled right through Drake's body, becoming stuck in a mass of bones and flesh and organs of a boy who couldn't die as long as the Gaiaphage was alive.

Sam had no time to spare, so he couldn't mourn him just yet. The sadness was still has sharp as the tentacles would've been, but it _could not_ overwhelm him, or Drake's sacrifice would mean nothing. Drake had given everything to protect him - if Sam failed, he'd be resurrected and tortured until his mind was shattered.

He released the giant ball, pupils darting around, and there he found it.

The **heart**.

Green radioactive material made small bubbles in the draught further inside the cave. A flash of a memory reminded him how he'd come to know of it - what had happened to both of Penny's ring fingers after coming too close to it. It had to be. If not, this would've all been a mistake.

Sam released the fire ball.

The Gaiaphage realized it a moment too late.

"NO!" she screamed, throwing her body to protect the late, ready to sacrifice it anytime if it would mean she would live on, even if she wouldn't last long then. It confirmed Sam's belief - but it wasn't over yet.

The fire ball hit. The fine wall that was built around it smashed into a thousand pieces and the substance flew everywhere. Caine saw the radioactive greenness before it hit him, so he pushed Diana gently away with his powers, throwing himself after her.

Sam stood still, and it was a miracle nothing hit him. But his eyes were fastened on the Gaiaphage, who still hadn't vanished. Problem was, the Gaiaphage seemed just as shocked as himself.

She reached out a hand, studying it. Then she smiled up at him.

Hysterical laughter echoed in Sam's ears.

"Did you think something like that was going to kill me?! I am a master, a lord, a _god_!" The Gaiaphage cackled some more.

Sam fell on his knees, then on all fours.

_'We've lost. I'm so sorry, Drake.'_

"And you know what my first thing to do is?! I'm going to revive that dreaded psychopath boy and pull his every fucking shark tooth out, and then I'll bash his head in with an axe, and then revive him again, and do the same thing over and over and over. I'll make him feel so much pain he'll be begging for-"

_Crack._

The Gaiaphage stopped mid-sentence.

Sam's eyes widened.

In her face, a crack had appeared, like in a porcelain vase. Between them it glowed in emerald, as if thousands of the beautiful stone was trapped inside. It began again, this time cracking into two separate directions, and then to three, and so it continued down her entire body. Everyone alive in the cave froze, and her voice held desperation when she screamed.

"NO THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING-"

A million pieces shattered all around her, and the green material oozed out, melting. Sam reacted quick, standing up and burning the remains to ashes. He soon realized he didn't have to though, and lowered his hands as it did it on its own.

No one said anything before it was absolutely gone.

"It is finished," Caine whispered. "I can no longer feel him in my head."

But Caine could not see either.

Sam nodded, slightly. He sat down with the half-burnt body of his lover. The smell was terrible, but he didn't mind.

"What will happen to us now?" Diana wondered in a quiet voice after she'd made sure it had gone a few minutes. Sam needed time to heal, but now was not that time.

He took a deep breath, eyes never leaving Drake's fallen form. He looked even worse now that the Gaiaphage was gone, the connection keeping him alive now ruined, allowing him to sleep eternally at last. Sam's love for the sadist hadn't lessened though, and although it went unsaid, both knew it was because the love had grown too deep. "I do not know. The barrier might have come down. Or it is still up. Maybe people have died. Like I said, I have no idea."

"We better find out then, don't we, brother?"

Head turned towards where he'd heard Sam's voice come from, Caine was far too proud to look as weakened as he really was, almost pretending he could see, even if there were no eyes there. He leant on Diana, but held her arm in a way like it would seem he wasn't. Though Sam had witnessed it all, his pride wouldn't allow him to outright state that he'd lost one of his senses.

There came no comment from Sam's part. Caine grew a little tense - he'd never realized how important sight was. But the pause had merely come from Sam's thinking, so it was all good, and Diana's hold tightened on Caine's arm as she felt him flinch.

"I guess we might as well."

In silence, the three survivors headed for the light in the end of the tunnel leaded to light. They did not step outside, however, before Sam and Caine had made sure to completely smash the cave into pieces with fire and rage and rocks blocking any future path.

Then they turned towards the light again, to see if the wall was there or not.

"We're still together after all," murmured Diana.

"I would never leave your side, my queen," Caine replied.

**The end.**


	28. Dango Daikazoku

**Disclaimer: **Gone™ belongs to Michael Grant and those guys at HarperCollins. _Clannad_ anime belongs to Key and Kyo Ani. Plot is mine, all other material belongs to them. I solemnly swear that I am making no profit from this. If I lie, I'll willingly eat Sanae's bread. Some themes are also shamelessly copied from _CLANNAD: After Story._

**Rating: **T

**Warning: **Death, angst, language

**Beta: **SirenShadow** **and **DreamCatcher96**~! Thanks!

**Type: **Oneshot, former threeshot

**Genre:** Family, drama, hurt/comfort

**Pairing:** Former Caina

**Summary: **PostFAYZ, AU futurefic. "Uncle Sam told me there are only two places I'm allowed to cry. In the bathroom... and in Daddy's arms." Inspired by CLANNAD: After Story. Complete.

**Word count:** 21'706

**A/N: **Reposted here because it was a mere threeshot (◑▽◐) Um, this some rather cliché and cheesy, so if that's not your cup of tea, scamper off please.

This is inspired by the anime _Clannad: AFTER STORY._ Songs used are an OP and OSTs added to the story - written in there: [_example_] - (you'll find them on YouTube) in case you feel the need to get more in the mood with nice music in the background *(*´∀｀*) Simply put "Clannad" in front of the OST name and you'll find it. Also, thank you to those who read and reviewed before~ Enjoy.

.

.

**Dango Daikazoku**

.

_Dango, dango, dango, dango_

_Dango, daikazoku _  
><em>[big dango family]<em>

_Yancha na yaki dango_  
><em>[A mischievous dango]<em>

_Yasashi an dango_  
><em>[A kind sweet bean dango]<em>

_Minna, minna, awasete hyakunin kazoku_  
><em>[Wrap them all up and it's a family of hundred]<em>

_Aka-chan dango ha itsumo shiwase no naka de_  
><em>[A baby dango is always cradled in happiness]<em>

_Toshiyori dango ha me wo hosometeru_  
><em>[An old dango gazes with squinty eyes]<em>

_Nakayoshi dango te no tsunagi ookina marui wa ne naruyo_  
><em>[The dango friends will all hold hands and form a big circle]<em>

_Machi wo tsukuri dango boshi no ve minna de warai auyo_  
><em>[They'll found a village on a dango planet and all smile together.]<em>

_Vsagi mo sora de te wo futte miteru dekkai otsuki-sama_  
><em>[The rabbits are waving their hands from the big moon]<em>

_Ureshii koto kanashii koto mo, zenbu marumete_  
><em>[Roll up all, the happy and the sad things]<em>

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[**Nagisa**]

.

.

Where they were was of none importance, everything that mattered for both of them was washed away as the couple stood, alone, on a hill under the beautiful embrace of bright sakura trees. Without a slight hint of hesitation, he took her hand in his, fragile and warm like a small bird. He knew it was cheesy and fairly cliché, but it felt like her fingers fit perfectly intertwined with his, as if their hands were made for each other.

"Diana?" with this he hesitated, voice nearly cracking with tension, having no idea what she would answer when he delivered the question he'd brooded on in what seemed like an eternity. Though he was calm, heart not beating in a wild frenzy or anything like so; a bizarre calmness as if someone had wrapped him in a soft blanket and forced it to stay that way. A king's calmness, perhaps.  
>"Will you marry me?"<p>

She paused, as if clicking that button on a TV remote, stopping time. Wind blew in her chocolate-coloured hair and she stared at him non-stop, never tearing her eyes away. She thought for a moment, though he could tell somehow her choice was already chosen.

"Yes."

"Really?" Regardless of his blossoming happiness because of her firm decision, he doubted. "Even if... Even I will never live up to anybody's expectations? Even if I'm far from perfect? Even if I'm so pathetic, I don't have a single friend? Even if I'm a sociopathic bastard without the ability to feel guilt? Even if-" He stopped quite abruptly as she let go of his hand and placed a single finger on his mouth, pressing it to his lips gently.

"I'm not what you can call perfect either. I'm just as pathetic and foolish as you. But you... you're the only one I've got. And I'm the only one you've got. So I guess together, if not just a little, we grow stronger. More complete." A shaky intake of oxygen followed – an innuendo of shallowness.

"So..." He agreed with each word, even if it meant defying his original goals in life and supposed egoistic nature. "...You're saying you want to stay with me?"

She nodded, serious. There was no humour in her trembling voice. But trembling no longer. "I'll stay with you. Forever and ever. It's the only way, 'cos there is no one else to fill in the space. Like I said before, we only have each other." She turned away. There was a dust of pink on her cheeks.

"Forever," he murmured, and brought her head back in his direction, cupping her chin up in his hands and tilted it upwards to kiss her with absolutely no dominance or want, just acceptance and perhaps the tiniest glimmer of hidden love.

"Forever," she confirmed.

.

.

"_We start to walk up... the long... long... uphill climb."_ -Tomoya

.**  
><strong>

**Six Years Later.**

.

"_If we're together, we can become stronger." __-_Nagisa

.

Light pink walls.

Caine vaguely recalled to have wanted to paint them in a rich violet colour to match his rich personality, and also to make the cheap apartment appear more majestic and worthy of a king like he considered himself to be. Rather, what he_ had_ considered himself to be.

"_That'll just boost your ego and before you know it you think you're God."_

To this moment, he still remembered the sharp-tongued response he'd revived when stating it out loud, the standard amount of sarcasm dripping off her voice, almost like some sort of a bizarre liquid. She had been like that on all occurrences; even after their established relationship, their romantic times under cherry trees, in-between hot kisses and twinkling in her dark, chocolate-eyed gaze as he spluttered some nonsense about ruling the world – though it had been lies; he had never ruled the world, because_ she_ was his world. Never letting his head getting too big, never letting the vague compliments she offered be too major – stomping on his ego all the time – and he always let her without a second thought.

Though memories were shattered like shards of a ruined mirror. Caine was the one who had ruined it, in a pitiful attempt on forgetting everything including the tiniest glimpse of her. Pretending what had happened never happened, and had tried to erase her very existence from his deranged mind.

Yet the egoist could not let her wander off his mind, could not let all those sad and happy occurrences concerning her flow away from his mental cascade.

You see, Caine _still _treasured her, everything about her, he even went as far as saying that he loved her – which was quite an achievement and a half in itself for someone like him – deeply enough to sacrifice himself for what had been a blindingly beautiful female, when she was alive.

When wandering through his apartment, he felt a cold numbness engulf him. He didn't care much for anything anymore, for everything seemed too plain and too simple in his pitiful life to be taken notice of. He stopped with the bathroom, quickly finishing his daily needs.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" he delivered the question to the object in front of him, staring at the reflected emptiness on his own face, cheekbones sunken in, long stands of copper-coloured hair falling into his face, and decorated with dark circles under his eyes, clear evidence of bad sleep. He required shaving, he noticed. The question he had asked was forgotten since the answer was obvious.

Caine avoided piles of junk as he continued on his morning stroll. He woke up, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, showered and shaved, went to work, ate, went to bed, woke up again, and got ready to another day of mere survival. Sometimes thoughts sneaked in among the instincts, and this was one of those days. He despised it when that happened; it meant thinking and thinking meant memories, which resulted in pain.

He shook his head as he searched for coffee. "Seems like I don't have anything left," he said quietly to himself as he took notice of the fact that there was nothing left in the box where he usually put the coffee beans. Even if living in a cheap apartment, he still harboured some of his usual habits and liking – he wanted expensive coffee beans so he could make coffee from scratch.

He'd considered Tuesday to be the worst day of the week before; the weekend was far behind and even further away, and you were too awake (unlike on a Monday) to dream yourself away. He didn't consider it the worst day anymore. Now, he loathed _weekends_. This meant no work, which was a big relief to most men at his age, yet it meant emptiness for him since he had nothing to do with his life. Nothing to waste his endless time with. It all seemed pointless, now, even living. As stated previously, he lived only on instincts. He still feared death, therefore suicide wasn't an option.

In the middle of a gloomy pair of depressing flashbacks, the former king's phone called. Almost no one ever called him anymore; so it was safe to say that Caine almost crashed into a wooden door when some ridiculously loud _bib-bob-bib_ song played, sounding more like a ruined computer instead of a ringtone.

Mumbling some curses, he flipped the little blue phone open. The name shone up instantaneously, belonging to the only individual in this world that gave a rat's ass about Caine anymore. "Yeah?" he answered rather gruffly. He was going out; he needed to buy coffee and some other shit that would prevent him from starving to death in the upcoming week. It was his Saturday ritual.

"_Caine!"_ came the cheerful reply from the phone, the owner obviously being in a good mood. Caine would recognize the obnoxiously happy voice, with a slightly high pitch, anywhere. You didn't need to be a genius to be aware of his hatred for his brother, and it was evident in his own voice as he spoke.

"Sam."

Caine had tried to convince his idiot twin that their relationship was far too bad to be considered friendship, and therefore referring to each other by first name was totally unnecessary. Sam had just replied with a firm nod in so-called immediate agreement, but continuing to refer to his brother as just Caine, and not Soren or even Temple; as if the information the copper-haired twin had just delivered him had gone in one ear and out the other. "What do you want?" It wasn't like the obnoxious man never called him without good reasoning, but if his sharp tone lessened Sam might get... ideas. Ideas that they were friends. The horror!

"_Since I'm guessing,"_ Sam knew, the bastard always knew, _"that you're not doing anything today, would you like to join me to visit the new café Rosemarie that opened a week ago? I have yet to check it out and since you're free~?"_ He let the not-really-a-question float in the air for a couple of seconds.

Idiot.

'_But,'_ a tiny voice reminded Caine,_ 'Even if being a stupid shit, he's the only person left that still gives a crap about your lonely ass._' He brushed it away, being aware of the bitter truth.

"I have business," he replied shortly.

"_What kinda business?"_ Sam asked quickly with a mild level of intensity. His brother frowned on the other line – usually he treated Caine with a lot of respect. Perhaps something major had happened to Sam...? Unwanted inquisitiveness filled him.

"Eh..." Distracted, he did not manage to come up with a proper retort that could prove to be conceit enough to skip the meeting. Personally he blamed his morning-sleepy brain. "Forget it; it was nothing. I'll... I'll come. Just gotta buy some food first, y'know, for the upcoming week?"

"_Yeah, okay!"_ came the immature answer, the amount of happiness because of his brother's decision immeasurable. _"The café is down with the park, a cute yellow little house beside the old post office. Twelve o'clock, 'kay?"_

"Yes," Caine answered in an idle form of mood. Quiet for a moment, he added, "Oh, and Sam?" before the idiot could hang up.

"_Wha'?"_

"You're coming alone. Completely alone." No hint of questioning. No marks showing he wanted an answer, it was a bold statement he expected to be true. The nonverbal threat that if Sam defied the sentence, talked against it, or even went as far as disagreeing, Caine would not come.

A pause was all he was rewarded with at first. The moment of truth, _"Um, yeah, s-sure."_ The uneasiness was almost written in-between the stammered pair of words, indicating that Sam didn't want to answer with what he had, though knowing that Caine wouldn't have joined him if he replied otherwise.

"Good." The infamous one of the Temple twins nodded, absentminded.

"_Bye."_

Without wasting energy on saying such a useless word as goodbye when they were going to see each other in a couple of hours anyway, he clicked on the red button on his old-fashioned mobile, ending the conversation. Snow had started falling outside, and he grimaced because of the reducing temperature. With this rate, he was going to get snowed in the upcoming Christmas.

That brought up a rather unpleasant memory.

_Shit._

Moving inside, he grabbed a thick coat before exiting his apartment and walking to the city. Always trying to forget the past but never quite succeeding.

.

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"_Please love me forever and ever." _-Misae

.

[**Etude pour les petites supercordes**]

.

.

The idiot had been right.

Correctly assumed, it was a nice café. Light-brown walls (not the horrible light pink he had at home), floor made out of polar white marble, with mahogany chairs and tables. The prices on the hot drinks weren't too high either, pleasing both Temples' wallets greatly.

Sam curled his fingers around the cup containing smoking hot cacao. How he managed to touch such warm surfaces without burning himself, or an indication of pain, was still unthinkable for Caine. But he had stopped wondering a long time ago, not bothering his mind with questions his brother gleefully left unanswered (probably just to mock him).

The auburn-haired man brought the cup up to his face, more attention on the chocolaty liquid than on his brother, drinking it without a sound, neither soiling a drop. Caine silently thanked him for not slurping or making any embarrassing noises. It always bothered him when people did that. He had considered himself a gentleman, and manners weren't something he lacked. Neither did his twin, but that wasn't mentioned out loud.

Taking a sip of his own coffee (served cold; he'd always loathed warm coffee for some unknown reason), and afterwards, wiping a few copper hair strands away from his face, he threw another question at his brother. This was actually the first time they'd spoken after settling down on this café, Caine noted, but his tone was still as blasé, "Any specific reason why you brought me here other than to check out the café?"

Sam flashed his standard idiot grin and tilted his head to the side. For some reason, optimism surrounded him constantly. Before the change of attitude, Sam had suffered from loads with depression, loneliness and insomnia after The FAYZ had ended and they'd been stripped of their powers, but after the... _drastic responsibility_ had been placed upon his shoulders a couple of years ago he'd changed a lot.

"They have cheap cacao here!" Sam blurted out rather boldly, causing the nearby waitresses to giggle.

Caine looked dead-panned for a moment, slightly taken aback when being answered with that naïve response, rolling his hazel eyes and swallowing the tiny glimpse of anger that had blossomed up when Sam did something that brought him humiliation on his brother's behalf. He never questioned the fact that sharing a table with someone who looked like Caine did (he'd forgotten to shave again and found tight clothes too uncomfortable, so dressed in an used pair of black jeans full of holes and a plain white t-shirt; he didn't look like a businessman) brought humiliation to his brother though. He just couldn't see Sam getting embarrassed since he did it on his own all the time without even noticing. But neither of the Temple twins noticed that girls found Sam's childish attitude charming, either.

"So, no other reason?"

The obnoxious individual looked remotely thoughtful for a few moments. On all occurrences, he amazed Caine quite a bit when changing personality traits so easily, one second being the serious father returned from war for many years – like now – and in other moments being the goofy loveable uncle seeking attention every second (the last bit caused something to stir within Caine but he momentarily ignored it, aware of what it was but not wanting to know anything of it).

Sam picked up a pink straw and started to move it in slow circles, blending the marshmallows he had gotten for free (one of the waitresses was eyeing Sam suggestively, however the idiot was too idiotic – obviously – to notice) with the cacao. "Yeah..." he said finally, trailing off and looking a tad torn.

"What is it then? Spit it out, I'm no mind reader," Caine ordered in a voice milder than he'd intended to use. His dysfunctional brain clicked and told him he was getting soft in his old age. He brushed away and instead thought of the context of his own words; he'd mentioned a supernatural power. The FAYZ wasn't discussed much more since each kid had lost their power after it vanished out of thin air. Both twins merely wanted to forget those horrible months.

There had been no fairytale ending – no romances had succeeded. With an exception of him and his... former wife. They had been dependent on each other since there were no one else to turn to; both their parents were more interested in the fame their kids brought them than the actual kids. Soon The FAYZ got outdated with almost no proof; children was sent to therapists after they had given countless interviews about their horrible time in the upside-down fishbowl.

Caine? As soon as he was legal he'd ran away with Diana, before that mostly staying inside until his sixteenth birthday when he declared that he would make it on his own.

Drake? He was history, had vanished along with the bubble, since the real Drake Merwin was dead and the thing that had been wandering around was a mere empty shell (or a robot killer machine) with the sadist's murderous instincts.

Sam? Well you know the deal. In and out of therapists, thereafter the **big change** (Caine did not like to go into details), and a new Sam, improved at many areas. For an example, he was exceptional at making food after turning bachelor, because Astrid Ellision and him decided that a teenage romance wasn't the same as true love and diverted as friends, and spoke over the phone once a year as a needed ritual, although never saw more of each other than that. Perhaps an email and a Christmas card here and there.

"I haven't got all day," Caine said sternly, breaking his own daydream, even if the statement was a lie since he really had all day.

"I was thinking..."

'_Well well – that is quite the big achievement,'_ Caine thought with that dry humour of his. _'I wonder if it hurts.'_

"...d'ya wanna go on a trip with me?" Sam blinked hopefully at him, those melancholy midnight-blue eyes wide and shiny like a pair of polished crystals.

That took a moment to swallow. "A trip with you?" Caine said, shock evident on his rarely emotional (other than irritation and sourness, like he went around sucking on a lemon while having a bad itch) expression. Disgust managed to sneak in. He didn't even like Sam.

'_Bullshit. You constantly hang around him, let him into your house freely, and even go to cafés with him!'_ his inner intelligent voice reminded him. Grinding his teeth together, Caine threw the dirtiest look at Sam he could manage – without being engulfed in those naïve blue eyes – if not just to prove the statement in his head wrong. "And why the Hell would I do such a thing, may I ask?"

The jubilance and hope slid of Sam's features as if a dangerous wave had washed over him, taking away all the beautiful things like shells and starfishes – optimism and happiness – and instead replacing it with seaweed – icy coldness – and scowling at Caine. "Very well. Don't come. Sit on your lonely ass all day and pity yourself of your loss of Diana, like you do every day."

Oh no he did not just...

"What the _fuck _did you just say?"

In a second, the sociopath was showing the insanity he hid so well underneath; standing up, nails digging into the white tablecloth, with rage swirling in his usually so dead eyes. Several heads turned because of the commotion, one of the masculine waiters balling his hands into fists, getting ready to stop a fight if necessary.

Sam didn't even flinch, still kept drinking the cacao while his cold eyes watched Caine. Big brother mood was turned on – there were very few things the two of them actually cared to fight for, even with different opinions, but for some reason Sam _demanded _that Caine joined him on that damned trip.

"You heard me," he replied calmly, cool as a cucumber, "I don't suggest much, but I want you with me on this one." Even with big brother mood on he was like a dog fighting with its tail between its legs. He just wasn't a natural-born dominant person, it didn't fit his character at all.

Hazel met midnight-blue and the glaring contest lasted quite a bit. No one in the petite café spoke; the uncomfortable silence influencing the atmosphere. Caine gave up and sat down, and ignorant to him, people breathed out in relief. "Fine. I'll think about it. But don't insult me, Temple."

Sam smiled deviously, like a bleach-washed little demon. Perhaps the ones that had come to the conclusion that Caine was the evil twin were wrong; for sometimes sinister black malice showed in Sam's far-seeing gaze, as well as in the copper-haired man's one.

"Okay."

Idiotic brother.

'_But he's _your_ idiotic brother,'_ came the obvious response from Caine's brain – which actually wasn't on eternal vacation, despite his auburn-haired twin's theories.

.

.

_"It was a strange experience. So there are families like that too. You guys get along so well."_ -Tomoya

.

.

He had just locked up the door and strolled in, soaked with water from the sleet shower that had just erupted. Wet snow was one of the things he hated the most when it came to weather – it wasn't dry like snow, wasn't wet (but often warm) like snow, it was something in-between, that manifested and melted as soon as it hit you, also forming small puddles on the ground that you always stepped on. If he was lucky, it would transform into rain and he wouldn't have to see the dreaded snow ever again.

Then his house phone rang.

Twisting out of his wet jacket and tossing it into a corner, he ran towards it (what if it was something important? Not many called him and since he'd just been with Sam...) while at the same time ripping off his wet clothes with little gentleness. He stood in his pants when answering the phone, breath ragged because of lack of oxygen.

"Hello-"

"_Caine! Have you made up your mind yet?"_

"Bastard. I just came home," Caine retorted sharply, angry with guess-who's abrupt cheerfulness.

Sam pretended to have not heard the insult. _"Your trip home was pretty_ long_. Ah, don't bother with excuses, I understand! You have a lot on your mind! But just think of it, 'kay?"_ He didn't even bother to hear of the egoist's excuses, merely muttered a swift_ 'Goodbye!' _before hanging up, leaving Caine standing with his phone in his hand wondering what the hell just happened.

Then passed about fifteen seconds. The phone rang again. Caine answered it on reflex, cursing himself once the voice made itself known.

"_You made up your mind now?"_

He didn't bother to answer, just threw the phone on the floor. What was it with Sam today? He never was this persistent about something. What was so important with this trip? Mind bubbling with questions, he still ignored the phone when it rang for the third time. And the fourth. And the fifth. And the eight.

But when it reached the twelfth, he took the phone and answered with a furious "Fine! I'll go! Just shut up and I'll join you!"

"_Um, Mr. Soren, join what?"_ the surprised and slightly creped out answer came from a random telephone seller._ "Nevertheless, have you tried the delicate butter from-"_

_Click._

He held the phone in his hand, when it started calling again. This time he checked the name.

"Sam-"

"_I tried calling but the line was busy. Anyway, have you-"_

"Yes for Christ's sake I'll come!"

"_Okay! Come over to my place tomorrow morning! Bye bye!"_

Caine stood there with the phone in his head again, this time with his chin hitting the floor, again wondering what the Hell had happened with his brother's cunning way of convincing him to do something he really didn't want to. Neither did he have an idea of _where _they were going to.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Sam Temple convinced his stubborn donkey twin to come join him on a trip that would soon change his life, as cliché as that sounded.

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Sanae: _"So my bread is... Furukawa's bread... Landmine?"_ **[Runs out of bakery crying]**

Akio: **[Runs after, shoving weird octopus bread into his mouth] **"_I LOVE THEM!"_

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.

Brushing newly fallen snow off himself before entering, he walked into the small bakery.

He'd almost forgotten his brother's new profession.

After he started living with another mouth to fill, working as a surf teacher wasn't economically reliable. It had been a tough few months until he discovered he had a secret talent for baking – making bread, cakes and cookies, and thus decided to make a living off it.

The shop was connected to his own house, formerly a garage after he'd sold his own car, knowing that he didn't have the financial support for something like that. He preferred to work near his house so he could be near the young child but at the same time work to get sorely-needed money. Sam was well-respected in the area and mostly let alone by some of the gangs that were in the area; he'd found a place where most of the surrounding couples were old people that had seen so much and immediately knew that he was a reliable neighbour. And his bread was exceptional too, which just added on their liking towards him.

Half expecting Sam to storm towards him and hug him to death – it had happened on several former occasions – he was wary as he went through the house, currently in the hall leading to several rooms. Sam could be hiding behind one of those doors, ready to jump him. Caine soon calmed though, shoving his hands down in his pockets and settling in the small light-green room that was the normal wooden kitchen in his apartment. Perhaps it was little, but Caine didn't mind. The kitchen was bigger than his own anyway, so he couldn't complain.

Then Mr. Pom-Pom decided to interrupt.

Now, Mr. Pom-Pom was not human despite the ridiculous name and mister in front; he was a very old cat. Caine guessed Sam had gotten the cat because he felt lonely, but he had no idea how his cheerful brother had managed to find the sourest Persian in the whole world. It was glaring at him, planning his death, Caine _knew _it.

Mr. Pom-Pom said nothing, just sat on one of the chairs he had clearly taken over while sending a look of pure disgust in Caine's direction. For some reason he hated Caine, constantly glaring at him while also rubbing himself against Sam's foot as to say _I'm fucking with you and there's nothing you can do about it._ Followed by an evil cat laughter. _Meowhahaha._

Okay, so perhaps Caine was exaggerating the problem a little, however _that_ was how he felt. He knew the white fluff-ball was plotting his demise, planning to explode his house or something.

...Perhaps all those years without proper entertainment had let his imagination grow and roam freely. He returned the glare, starting a competition with a damn cat. _Just come for me, fluff-ball, I'll be waiting._

Which the cat silently replied _Oh, don't let your guard down for one, sissy boy, 'cos I'll be there beating you to the ground. _Now this imaginative fantasy chat was getting out of hand. Not that Caine cared, he kept on imagining the inimical argument. Mr. Pom-Pom gave one last trademark scowl of eternal doom before he slinked out the door, not faced with the losing. He also gave Caine a perfect view of its ass to show his thoughts of the subject.

The copper-haired man didn't quite enjoy the victory for long, and gazed at the table, thoughts wandering again until they caught sight of something rather odd. Two orange tickets lay there, and Caine felt a shot of relief._ Good_. It was better with just him and Sam alone. Perhaps, if he had been more of a normal person, he would have felt immediate guilt for experiencing such when his own... child was involved.

He almost smiled when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Sam I-"

He stopped mid-sentence.

Grinding his teeth together hard, as if his mouth was locked in confrontation, darkness clouded his facial expression like an evil cloud.

He had specifically told Sam to not fucking let _her _be alone with him. Now _she _was standing there, looking at him through a crack in the door leading into the big living room.

Caine recognised the features of her face at once, mumbling something to himself. "Where's Sam?" he questioned, tone cold. At the question, she hid behind the door again. "Don't bother hiding, I've already seen you," Caine ordered.

She had to go up on her tip-toes to reach up to the golden doorknob, slowly pushing it open. Dressed in what seemed like a very thick maroon-coloured coat that went almost down to her knees and big red boots, Taisie stood there with her wide emotionless eyes blinking expectedly at him.

It hit him like a dagger made out of hard amber to the very base of his chest, or rather, someone twisting around the dagger that was already stuck in his heart, in his heart from long ago, making the pain he had become "used" to unbearable again. Taisie's face was like a perfect mirror of Diana. Merely with more baby fat near the face, and Taisie's hair had been cut up, a tad lighter than chocolate, more like chestnut-coloured, now only reaching just beneath her shoulders.

Last time he'd seen her was eight or nine months ago, and in all that time he hadn't said a word to her while she had hid behind Sam. Another one of his brother's useless tries of creating a bond between the daughter and the still-mourning father.

Why wouldn't he realize that Caine wanted nothing to do with her? Taisie... She was the reason Diana had left him. Why she broke her promise of being with him forever. Why had he really bothered believing her in the first place? She had lied to him before. Anger rushed trough him and his eyes narrowed into a deep scowl, all while staring at the stranger who he did not consider being his daughter. Anger directed towards her.

"So where's Sam?" he repeated, tone still darkening.

Taisie didn't flinch. "Not here," she said.

"I got that," Caine growled. He hadn't been alone with his daughter since she'd been born. Hadn't kissed her goodnight. Hadn't hugged her. Hadn't even touched her. Because after so many years, his blame for his wife's death laid entirely on the child's shoulders, in his eyes.

The grief hadn't reduced one bit in those dreadful five years.

"Did he tell you were he was going?"

"No."

Well, that didn't help his mood the slightest. "Then I'll guess we'll have to wait. Sam wanted me to go on a trip with him." Caine sighed and leaned back in the armchair he was seated in, leaning his head into the comforting neon-green material. Sam had a thing for bright colours. Matched his bright mood, Caine guessed.

"Trip." Taisie suddenly ran in the opposite direction, disappearing from his view for a moment, her footsteps echoing through the house. She returned moments later, with a small, blue backpack in her hands. He vaguely noticed that her hair was shorter than last time he'd seen her – although hiding behind Sam – because it was now reaching just beneath her ears, making her look more boyish. "I wanna go on that trip."

"Well there's only two tickets, for me and him." Unless... No. The idiot wouldn't do something like that. Though there was a slight possibility, his inner voice told him. "I'm not going unless he's going," he emphasised this in case Sam was hiding in another room. He had no desire to bond with Taisie, even if she was his own child.

"We'll just wait until he comes." How the "we" had gotten into that sentence was bizarre, but Caine didn't think much off it; it was a slip of tongue – that was all.

"The train won't go until six o'clock," Taisie informed, tone blasé. Her blank facial expression seemed to never fall off.

"Good. Sam's probably out getting food or something. Or surfing." Though it wasn't wise to leave Taisie here in an unlocked house; Caine saw no logic in that.

Not that he cared. Of course he didn't. He hadn't cared for years.

After a moment of silence, he gave her a nod. "You can change from those thick clothes. We're not going out for a while." The rage reduced, if not just a tiny bit. He had tried so hard forgetting the painful past and a mere look at a reminder like Taisie caused him to lose his cool? It was hard to believe. Human emotions were something Caine often wished he lacked. Lacked more of, at least.

Tightening her grip on the backpack, her small fingers curling around the handle, she gave him a torn look. Then the brunette shook her head, instead sitting down in the small three-step staircase and placing the backpack on her lap. She hugged it and placed her head on top of it, watching him.

"Jeeze..." Caine shoved his hands deep into his pockets, unfazed by the amount of paper money that rested there. "Just go and play. Sam will come around sooner or later. He always does." With that he strolled into the living room, unhesitant as he stepped right over Taisie and retreating to the nearest non-neon-coloured bench. Grateful by the lack of verbal response from her, he shut his hazel eyes and intended to take a nap, something he allowed himself to do with the odd circumstances.

Taisie turned around to face him before she nodded. She rummaged the backpack before located what she desired, a small onyx-black bear that lacked both an ear and a foot. She didn't seem to mind, instead observing it with fondness in her look.  
>Without a second of hesitation, she ran over to her father with the bland façade still in face. "I'll be playing now," she informed. Mr. Pom-Pom was glaring daggers at him from his place on a neon-orange sofa.<p>

Taken aback by the bizarre attitude, Caine opened one eye and looked at her with what soon transformed into lack of interest. "Whatever," he mumbled, before turning over.

Therefore, he didn't notice that Taisie's eyebrows shot slightly up in surprise by the treatment, a thin and low amount of water entering her eyes when a recall of a distant memory made her freeze for a moment. She didn't utter a single sound as her small fingers tightened around the bear in her hands, and she ran to play.

.

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[**Snowfield**]

.

_._

_Perhaps some things are meant to happen._

_It was snowing. It would be burnt into his mind – the snow, the horrific snow that had cost him so much. Thereafter this very moment, Caine Soren would despise the dust-like pristine white material falling from the sky during winter._

_The clock was five in the early morning. A terrible snow storm was raging outside, as if God had decided to punish them by making traffic unable to move, resulting in no one to pick Diana up and ship her to a hospital._

_He felt her nails dig into his hand, too gentle to cause any real pain. "Diana!" He also felt utter panic, it driving him insane how he was so helpless in such a situation. All he could do was hold her hand, try to calm the woman beside him with calming words. But inside he felt like a mess._

"_Caine-" Diana mumbled back before whatever she was going to say was interrupted by her own pained groans, her head swinging backwards with the almost burning agony this situation provided her. Her grip tightened again, nails digging deeper into his hand and drawing marks. She turned to the side, pearls of sweat on her forehead and mouth half-open, trembling. Oh, how it pained him to see her like this. Her dark-chocolate eyes were teary._

"_It's no use!" Sam rushed in, being the only person except the two of them in the room. "The cars won't move! And the telephones are out because of the storm!" He kicked the wall in anger, looking just as torn as Caine. He ran over to Diana's left side, staring into hazel eyes with worry and fear, but reviving no response since those eyes were locked on his wife._

"_Hang in there Diana," Caine mumbled, lost in her. He revived only pained noises in return. It was gruesome scene – though was nothing like a film. This was real life. You could not compare those two, it was like separate things from separate universes. He crawled forward on the madras, wrinkling the sheets as he shakily kissed her forehead in an attempt to calm both himself and her._

_Sam didn't bother to ask his brother to collect some towels, since Caine was like glue with his loved one, and got them himself. He pushed Diana's legs wider apart. There were nothing erotic about the scene before him and there wasn't anything remotely beautiful about it either, but he did not feel disgusted or anything else for that matter. This was need. He needed to do this. "C'mon, you're almost there! You can make it!"_

_Tears were streaming down her face now, teeth clenched in hurt, causing Caine to lose his grip on reality. Hours passed – he didn't know how long or anything else; it felt like eternal Hell, all while standing there completely helpless._

_The encouragement from Sam continued. "You're doing great Diana. Almost there! Just take deep breaths now..." During this situation, he had gotten a new light over himself; as if someone had replaced his cold stone of a heart with a shining diamond. He refused to leave, staying by their side forever._

_Caine was blacking out._

_He didn't know anything anymore – it consumed him, the helplessness._

_He felt like he was fainting and waking and fainting and waking all the time..._

_...Until he couldn't take it anymore. Letting go of Diana's hand, he ran through the apartment with Diana's muffled screams echoing in his ears. He vaguely heard Sam call for him – but he couldn't, didn't manage, she was fucking dying in his own hands for fuck's sake!_

_He leaned against the fence of his veranda, taking deep ragged breaths, eyes wide to the extent that the pupil had lessened to a mere black dot. He was trembling, not because of the cold, but with pure despair. "Why?" he asked into the depth of what seemed like eternal night._

_Perhaps he was asking the city. But it provided no answer._

"_WHY?" Caine was shouting now, yet his voice was hoarse and his eyes were sore and puffy because of all the crying. "Why did this have to happen to us? Did I do something wrong? Why do you take her away from me? Everything was g-g-going just f-fine," he stammered, burying his hands in his arms, snow falling around him. "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO FUCKING DESERVE THIS!" he screamed into the night, afterwards sobbing like a broken child._

_Perhaps destiny had collected what it needed to collect._

_Perhaps this was meant to not happen._

_Sam kicked the door to the veranda open, "Caine! Get inside! You need to comfort her!"_

_He reacted slow, at first, turning around as if in slow motion. Sam gazed at his twin-brother with wide eyes, never having seen Caine so weak. He made his shaking way through the door, stumbling slowly. Sam had already closed the door and was back with Diana._

"_C-Caine," she mumbled. Caine felt his knees turned weak with the gruesome view, and needing call, but he somehow managed to curl up beside her a few seconds later, gripping her hand._

"_I'm so sorry," Caine whispered, "I'm so, so, so sorry, please don't leave me! I won't leave again! Please! I'll do anything just please!"_

"_I won't l-leave," Diana smiled, although tired and weak and _just as pathetic_ as him. "We m-made a p-promise, remember?" Her tone was quiet, her hair hanging in her face._

_Sam stood up with a small buddle in his hands, a peaceful yet worried expression on his facial expression. "It's a girl," he said, smiling weakly. His soaked auburn hair clung to his face as if glued on. He stared at Diana again, midnight-blue eyes widening. "You're loosing a lot of blood. I d-don't know what to..." he looked just as helpless as Caine felt._

_But no matter._

"_Diana," Caine sobbed, "You said you'd never leave me. You said you'd stay with me forever."_

_Her hand became limp, but her dark-chocolate eyes was still fixed on her child, the buddle crying loudly in Sam's trembling arms. "Taisie," she mumbled with an ever so peaceful smile on her face. Her eyes moved towards Caine's crying face, and she reached up to stroke his cheek. "Caine," she smiled, her sight becoming blurred, eyes becoming distant. She could no longer feel her lower body._

_He grabbed her hand, holding it there like his life depended on it. "You said...You said..."_

"_I love you. B-Both of you." With that her hand fell from his cheek down on the madras, her eyes slowly closing. She no longer moved. She no longer breathed._

_The only sound was Sam's ragged intakes of oxygen and the distant crying from a newborn child._

_Caine couldn't move, rocking back and forth where he sat, "Diana... Diana... Diana..." he repeated her name, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. "Diana!"_

"_Caine! She's..."_

"_NO! SHE ISN'T!" He rocked her back and forth on the edge of hysterical. Everything else was blocked out, the pain, oh the pain, it felt like it was consuming him whole. It was gruesome. It felt like he was being devoured alive by some kind of monster. "Diana! You said that we'd be together forever, that we completed each other. You promised me... You promised me..."_

_With Caine soon lying on the floor in a heap of grief, something clicked within Sam. Slowly, ever so slowly, he tightened his hold on the baby in his arms. Diana's words hadn't gone unnoticed. "Taisie, eh?" he said quietly, the question disappearing in the continuous crying, pressing her into his chest, her little heart bumping against his own. "Like a little bird," he commented, and smiled calmly once she relaxed against his chest._

"_Caine... Taisie she..."_

_Something also clicked in Caine that day._

"_Don't. Don't take that thing near me." Black malice was aflame in dark hazel eyes. "Fucking don't bring that _thing _that ruined my life anywhere near me. Please don't, I beg you.."_

_Perhaps it was not meant to happen at all._

.

.

"_People's lives are repetitions of actions hurting each other. It's understandable to doubt others. But being unable to trust anything is the same as being unable to sense other people's love._  
><em>Children, this is the only gift I can give you right now. A formless gift you call a "memory". I don't have any money and I can't give you something tangible. But even so, even if it isn't tangible, a memory is something that will continue to be with you. That is what I believe..."<em> -Yuusuke Yoshino

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[**Clannad - Distant Years**]

.

.

Nightmares.

Caine despised those things. Nightmares ruined his sleep and caused his standard bad mood to reduce to ten times worse. Though nightmares in general didn't bother him (they were just figments of your imagination, frightening monsters and other useless stuff that a king like himself forget once he woke up), however the memories; the simpler, the darker, the emptier ones...

It was those that made him not only wake tangled within sheets, in a cold sweat, but also spending the rest of the day in a constant blur, never concentrating properly, all his attention focused on the horrible flashbacks of horrific memories. Because that was what the nightmares often were about, the memories he had tried to lock away in his mind.

_She_ would reach out to him, and just when he grasped _her_ hand, his fingertips touching _hers_ lightly; _she'd_ vanish away from his grasp and into infinitive darkness, forever. The worst nightmares Caine had were about the more cheerful, lighter times with his former wife... However it always hurt so much more when he was reminded that he was never going to experience such moments in his dreaded life, ever again.

He'd had one of those disgustingly happy dreams – the worst ones – just now, and felt helplessness flow over his entire being. Sighing and brushing it away, Caine planted his feet at the ground. The sofa had been oddly comfortable.

The clock read three.

Caine ran a hand trough his thick hair, finally shaking the feeling that he was unsafe off him for good. At least for now.

Mumbling something inaudible to himself, Caine suddenly saw the petite form of Taisie _still _sitting on the floor, the teddy bear also in her hands. She must have played with it until he woke, and was now staring at him with curious eyes. Caine made some sort of pathetic just-awoken noise.

"Has Sam returned?" he asked, his voice slightly groggy and resulting in him clearing his throat to return to normal.

She shook her head slowly, gaze still fixed upon him.

Caine sighed again – he seemed to have done a lot of that these days – and tilted his head to the left, then to the right, to loose up the irritating pain in his upper back. "Very well then. Probably got himself molested by some crazed women or something; God knows that idiot won't see it until he's pressed up in the corner by a gang of girls telling him _exactly_ what they desire."

He cast a look at Taisie to see her reaction, though she appeared a tad confused, not disgusted or anything. Probably did not know what happens when a man and a woman love each other very much and they lay down, and the man gives the woman fifty dollars. _'Great. When did I become the man for the birds and the bees talk?'_

"I wanna play," she said after a moment of awkward silence. She was probably used to oddity when living around a deranged surfer-baker, because Caine's bold statements did not seem to bother her the slightest, and he was secretly grateful for that. The last thing he needed was a curious-out-of-her-mind five-year-old nagging at him.

"Then play," Caine replied, tone mega bored and still a tad groggy. "There's nothing stoppin' you."

Taisie nodded and disappeared towards the three-step stairs up to the kitchen. The stuffed bear was underneath her tiny arm, as Caine suddenly remembered something vague. He swore he'd seen that bear before somewhere... He could not put his finger on it, though. But it wouldn't hurt asking, he mused, "Hey, where did you get that-?"

She had turned around, but since there was a certain sour ball of white fluffiness (which wasn't adorable at all, just fat and ugly as hell) sneaking in-between her legs at that exact moment, she managed to trip in the damned cat, falling backwards down the stairs.

Caine didn't know what it was, but somewhere within him, something bizarre and unfamiliar stirred. It almost happened in slow motion, her falling backwards in mid-air and her eyes widening before she hit the wooden floor. The noise echoed around in the room, and before Caine had even understood what he was about to do, he'd rushed over to her. Taisie didn't stand up at once, momentarily stunned. She soon became aware of the pain and she rubbed the back of her head, which was the part that had hit the floor, turning away from her father.

Caine returned to himself again – that would say; not _that _worried.

"Geeze. You gotta be more careful, y'know."

He reached out to help her stand up, but in a moment she was already doing it by herself. With what seemed like pained movements, her face still turned away from him, she walked a few steps and picked up the bear. Caine snorted by the lack of thankfulness but did not comment on it, merely crawled up beside her. The bear seemed to have lost an eye with the contact with the wall.

Taisie clutched it with trembling fingers, staring at it. Caine still could not make out her expression.

"Seems like an eye was lost. Since the carpet is black, it'd be nearly impossible to find it. You shouldn't bother trying." He wasn't actually trying to be mean or cold-hearted, he just told her the bold truth. He still held some anger towards his daughter because the accident that was her fault, but no hatred was wasted, not at the moment anyway. Caine just didn't desire to establish a relationship with her; she was dead for him just like everybody else. Though bitterness still roamed freely in his heart.

The girl clutched it harder. "No fixin'?"

"No fixing."

A few seconds passed. Then Taisie suddenly turned and ran in the opposite direction, the bear falling on the floor.

"I tried to be nice," Caine muttered under his breath, picking up the bear and heading towards the kitchen. His hold on it was a little tighter than it should have been.

It was only seconds later he realized he had not asked if she'd been hurt.

.

.

"_Ushio! Observere your father's pathetic look!"_ -Akio

.

.

"Y'know, behind the door _still_ isn't really a good hiding place," Caine said loudly as he continued making some food. Sam had a lot of different recipes lying around, so Caine had decided to try something he would manage without blowing the kitchen up; a simple miso soup. He moved a whisk around in the red substance in diagonal circles, acting calm and quiet. The power-nap had done wonders with his mood.

Taisie stepped towards him, looking down in humiliation over being caught red-handed. She stood like that for a while, eyebrows tilted upwards with wide brown eyes underneath. "Hurts." The childish lisp was still in place.

Caine stopped for a moment, frowning and turning around to observer her, and she flinched as soon as he took a step towards her. "You're hurt?" he questioned, mildly surprised; she had not looked pained other than the loss of her bear-toy after falling. Perhaps she had hidden it for him in a panicked try to continue her emotionless mask. Somehow Caine could relate to that.

Nodding slowly, still rather hesitant, she reached out her hand and by doing so making quite an ugly bruise visible for Caine. Both his eyebrows shot up and he bent down, taking her hand in his. Taisie almost jumped, flinching again, but did not drew it back. Instead she merely continued to watch him, silent. "That damned cat," he muttered, "I knew he was planning my demise. The demise of my offspring, too. Or maybe the demise of the entire human race."

Staring at him with big eyes, she couldn't help but ask, "Who?". Her voice was awfully childish, but he had to remind himself that she was only five. What did he expect her to; understand his dark feelings and such? He even doubted Sam had even told her the death of her beloved mother.

"Mr. Pom-Pom. He has been plotting behind our-" he was about to correct himself with switching the word out to a first person one, when a sudden want welled up in his heart of leaving it be, and against his own wishes, he let it, "...backs since the day I first saw him. Probably before that too – but Sam is too naïve to doubt him. Mr. Pom-Pom is always glaring at me and sour as hell when I enter the room."

"But he's like that to everybody." Regardless of her opinions on the wretched animal, and her lisp, Taisie inched closer to her dad in fear over being devoured by the cat. He did not mind, his eyes fixed at the same cat as currently partook both of their attentions. Mr. Pom-Pom gave one final glare at both of them before moving out in the other room.

Clearing his throat, Caine stood up and turned towards the soup.

"...Damn."

Taisie looked at him, then at the smoking pot on the stove. "Burned?"

"Yeah. It was the last soup too. I could probably get some bread from the bakery."

Caine went out to the door that lead to the bakery, but found out that it was locked, much to his growing dismay. "I swear it was open when I entered!" he said to himself through gritted teeth. There was nothing wrong with his memory, at least not experiences he'd had less than half an hour ago!

"Uncle Sam locked the door." He almost jumped when he noticed that Taisie's fragile form was standing right beside him.

"He was here?"

Taisie nodded.

"So you saw him lock the door?"

Another nod of agreement.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"You didn't ask," she pointed out, brown eyes still wide and shiny.

Caine sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was going to get a migraine, that much was for sure. "Do you know where the key is?" he questioned, keeping his voice from giving away any kind of anger. The last thing he wanted to do was to frighten her, resulting in him being stuck here for any longer. When Sam came back he awaited quite the harsh slap from his sociopathic twin-brother. Taisie looked unsure for a moment, then nodded and lead him to a small pink safe.

"Can't reach," Taisie said.

"I can," Caine stated dryly, and went to open it. He found that to be locked as well (hell, did Sam expect to get robbed or something, even with Caine in the house?) and noticed a few black buttons with various numbers from one to nine on them, obviously being a pin code for opening the safe.

If Sam had painted it pink or that it was that colour originally was something Caine did not know and did not honestly want to.

"Do you know the code?"

"Um-hum."

Not giving much thought into what he was doing, Caine lifted her up. She made sound of surprise, her usual stoic façade replaced by a dumbfounded face. He found it cute. That was a word he had not used on years, however Taisie blinking and adjusting herself to her position on his shoulders was still kind of adorable. He had said kind of, so don't get any ideas. "Can you reach it now?" His question came out oddly quiet and not as blasé as he had first intended to make it appear.

"Um-hum," she repeated shyly, nodding while saying it, reaching out a chubby hand to get the code correct: '999'. Not a surprise really, Caine thought, referring to his meaning about Sam's obvious lack of intelligence other than when it came to baking. No wonder Taisie was so quiet; what was there to talk about with such an individual?

His thoughts were cut off as he heard a well-disguised wince coming from her, eyes closed in momentary pain. She was applying pressure to where she was hurt and seemed to be in pain. Not much, but still enough to make a girl on her age cry. Too bad he did not know how to comfort and instead sat her down, took the key out of her hand and into his pocket, then guiding her to the kitchen in search for plasters.

It wasn't like he was really thinking, more like just acting on instinct, really. Caine didn't like loud noises and ignoring her would probably result in that.

A few minutes passed.

"Here you go." He applied a little pressure to the wound, making an x-sign with the blue Spiderman-plasters. Boyish was a good adjective you could use to describe his daughter with, indeed. She had not said a word during the whole process, instead staring at him the entire time.

"What's with the look? Aren't you going to say thanks?"

"Thanks."

Then she pointed at the soup. "I think it's burning."

.

.

[**The Place Where Wishes Come True – version I**]

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.

An hour and a hell of a lot of water being thrown over the stove later, Caine was walking towards a nearby supermarket. The pavement made sloppy sounds when he stepped in the big puddles. It wasn't like he had been irresponsible with Taisie though – like a certain auburn-haired idiot; he had locked the door and told her the basics of not letting strangers in and such.

Going to the supermarket had really been an excuse for some fresh air.

Because he really needed it.

'_...Just my luck,'_ he thought bitterly_, 'almost exploding Sam's stove.'_

He sunk deep within his thoughts until he bumped into a familiar person.

"Oi! What is this, the whimpering widow finally crawled out from underneath his rock?" An Asian twenty-something woman stood there in the newest fashion, smirking at him. It was not like she desired for him to get hurt, no, even if she knew it was highly unlikely. The reason for her teasing was frankly that she did not like him that much.

"Taylor," Caine greeted, tone as cold the thin layer of ice on the puddles beneath his feet. "And here I thought you'd finally died or something great like that. It certainly would have helped my bad mood."

She laughed and slapped across the right cheek, lightly but still hard enough to leave a mark. "Always so funny, _Cainey_, you should be a comedian~!"

"What do you want Taylor? Sam isn't here if you came to molest him." The icy tone did not reduce, even as he shoved his hands into his pockets as if to prove that he was not intimidated by her feeble efforts of making him snap. Or was that what she wanted him to do? _'Perhaps she has to rile up everyone around her and see the failures in them to feel perfect, unaware that she could just go look in a mirror to see the biggest failure of them all,' _Caine pondered without his expression giving away his inner musings, experiencing no guilt for thinking of her like that.

"Oh, I was actually gonna shop some at the new store that just opened, but then I spotted you and your lovely little kid and just _had _to say hi."

Kid? To his surprise, Caine turned to find Taisie standing behind him, façade expressionless, not indicating what she felt. How long had she been standing there?

Not able to hide his shock, Caine's eyes widened slightly and he was about to question the matter, when Taylor had pushed him out of the way to talk to Taisie.

"You've grown so much since I last saw you!" She patted Taisie's head like if she was some sort of pet, and again something stirred within Caine. He then comprehended what it was – it was another memory, but not one of Diana. It was of his own foster parents, the way they had treated him as nothing but a porcelain figure to exhibit at parties and hidden away when no one else was around to see the magnificent specimen of Caine Soren.

And just like he had _not_ in fact done in all those years of polite nods and forced smiles to strangers that treated him like nothing but a pretty statute, Taisie said nothing and gave one of those shaking smiles Caine had abhorred to produce in the earliest parts of his childhood. The hatred had grown with each smile, with each nod, with each pat on the head and fake compliment that he was a "good boy".

"So you're out shopping with your failure of a dad, eh, Taisie?"

Taisie just nodded.

Had Sam taught her this? No. It could not be; his brother was an idiot, but Sam was not evil, nor was he an _ignorant_ idiot. There was a difference between naïve innocence and pure ignorance, even if Caine sometimes failed to see one.

The trust in Taisie's eyes when she had asked for her uncle had been genuine – not forced or out of sheer politeness, but of actual trust for another human being, something Caine had not felt it years. And as he stood there, wandering in the deep world of his mind, he was awoken when Taylor said something highly abnormal.

"It must be really lonely, huh?"

Taisie blinked twice, obviously taken out of the sophisticated trance. She no longer managed to keep her façade steady, the cracks building up until they rifted it and even those brown eyes she kept downcast most of the time became big and full of dispirited mulligrubs. She looked away to hide her little face, to keep both her father and the woman to see her real emotions.

"...Only living with your uncle I mean." Taylor's eyes was no longer mocking, she found no will to tease a girl so small as Taisie. What she found to her liking was that she could feel Caine taking a ragged breath behind her – as if he was holding in the rage pumping through his veins to keep up with his quickening heartbeat – and that he no longer managed to appear magestetic and blank; that he was also humane.

"Good thing your dad visits once in a while. Loneliness is a dangerous thing, especially for someone so young." Taisie looked up. Taylor was not staring at her now, instead she was gazing far away towards the very _real _sun shining above them, somehow managing to keep her eyes on the bright circle without using a hand to shield herself from the sunrays. She was whispering now, "But it's still lonely, isn't it?"

Taisie looked down again, almost shrinking into an even more petite size of herself and pressing her head down her shoulders to appear smaller and more unimportant. Her eyes flickered over to Caine for half a second before she withdrew them – her father's agape expression did not tell her if the shock he felt was positive nor negative.

"I guessed so," Taylor said as she looked from father to daughter a few times. Then she smiled; like she knew a secret nobody else did. "Well, I'll see you around. Both of you." Walking in a straight line, her arm lightly touched Caine's as she continued without speaking or without looking back.

If Caine had turned around, he would have noticed that Taylor wasn't going in the direction of any clothes store, but vanishing between houses in the small neighbourhood, where houses almost leant on each other for support.

Just like people do when the situation needs them to.

.

.

Nagisa: _"I'm glad that I found the courage to wave at you. I thought you might not forgive me, since I hurt you."_

Tomoya: _"I'm sorry, too. Really."_

Nagisa: **[tears drips down on her bento]** _"I'm sorry. Now that I feel so relieved..."_**[dries away tears from her eyes]**_"I'm such an idiot, right?"_

Tomoya: **[grabs her bento and takes a bite]**_"You might be an idiot, but I don't think there's anything wrong with that."_

Nagisa_: "You think so?"_

Tomoya: _"Since I'm an idiot, too. I'm on the same level as you. Far away from those who can handle the world well or take risky gambles. I bet there's a lot of stress to handle, but if it means crying alone, come get me._ **[realizes how he sounded and looks away, embarrassed]**_I mean, since I got time. Hanging around you keeps me free from boredom."_

Nagisa: **[smiles]** _"Okay. I will call you when I feel like crying."_

.

.

None of them spoke about the bizarre occurrence that had happened less than an hour ago. Instead he merely went over what they were going to buy and she gladly ran around to find what he looked for. When the cart was half-full of things they didn't really need, they stopped at a corner that was full of toys. Taisie immediately went to look at them, taking in every look of a new toy she could find.

"Pick one you'd like," Caine said while deciding which milk to take, noticing with a raised eyebrow how she jumped in surprise both by his words and their content. "Go on. It's not that expensive."

Taisie stared for him at a moment but did not waste another second as he opened his lips to tell her to hurry. In a second she'd rushed over to the cars, admiring the ones with the brightest colours. Caine sighed and saw how her eyes scanned each one of the toys, and how her tiny mind didn't manage to decide which one.

"What about this one?" he suggested, holding up a round form with two line eyes sewn on, a one smaller than the black one she had over at Sam's place. But unlike it, this one was in a light orange colour, almost like a little pillow with expressionless eyes. But not completely expressionless... Was it curiosity in those black-?

No of course not.

He was hallucinating again.

But she'd gently taken it from him without him even noticing – her fingers was like the gentle stroke of a butterfly's wing against his skin – and was now holding it up, grinning. "Yes," she agreed, with a grin full of teeth and truth, "I like this one."

"You don't have to say that just because it was the one I picked out," Caine sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Taisie clutched it harder, expression torn but fixed. "I _really_ like it."

"Fine, have it your way. But don't complain to me if you regret it and originally wanted something more girlish." Caine pushed the cart in front of him and continued towards the pay desk. Why wouldn't she just pick something she liked? He knew she'd looked at those cars. Perhaps she'd done it to impress him with her level of coolness. Should he be impressed? He didn't feel much.

Or, rather, he convinced himself he did not feel much. There's a difference.

The lady that worked there smiled, humming on some annoying eighties song. When she saw the big round creature-thing that Caine had picked for Taisie, a grin stretched across her face, and when she spoke, both him and her felt the smell off coffee invade their nostrils. "So you choose a dango, huh?"

"A what?"

"A dango," the brown-haired lady explained, showing that several of her teeth had gone yellow because of the coffee drinking. "Y'know, from the Japanese children's show Dango Daikazoku." All out of a sudden, she'd cleared her throat. "Dango, dango, dango, dango; dango big family," she took a deep breath, "A mischievous roasted dango, a kind sweet bean dango, gather them all up and it's a family of hundred..." Her voice wasn't shriekring, but completely plain and cracked when it went a little too high.

They heard a whistle from the other pay desk from an old fellow of her age, and the woman blushed. "Oh sorry, I just got carried away," she sent a look at him and revived a suggestive one in return.

Caine frowned, but said nothing.

"You like that, don't you?" she questioned when Taisie appeared to be engulfed into those small eyes of her new toy. Caine saw an emotion in her eyes he could not remember what was. "I find it so adorable when fathers buy their daughters presents." Tone as cheerful as her expression, she threw her arms up, the openness coming from the fact that it was in the middle of the day and not many customers around, "It isn't often I see such good daddies these days~!"

The statement was not meant to be mocking towards him since the two adults had never seen each other before, but still, Caine choked on air. Taisie caught his twisted response and looked at her with eyebrows knitted, wondering why he had such an odd reaction. Normally, he would just appear plain and look as bored as ever, but for some reason the lady's words had caught him off guard. Perhaps he hadn't realized that many daddies were bad daddies, she thought, but didn't think of him as one.

But really, that didn't bother him too much.

Bringing his fingers up to his face to grasp around half his face, he looked down, deep in thought with his lips parted in badly hidden shock. Face frozen, he muttered to himself, "Father."

Was there more to that particular word than just the man that had delivered the needed things for the production of another human life? _Yes_, his mind told him, _a father, or a daddy, is a person who looks after his child and guards it no matter what. It doesn't have to be much, it can be things very simple like checking the child's closet for monsters, but it can also be protecting him or her from serious, dangerous, things._

_What things?_

_People like yourself._

His inner musings made his eyes widen. He was no dad... He was _nothing_ to her.

Hatred. It fuels the love-starved heart and keeps it going. But was it hatred for his own daughter that had kept him going? A flash suddenly took over his mind.

.

.

[**Nagisa**]

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.

_It was Diana._

_She was standing a couple of meters away from him, on wet grey pavement on an autumn morning. How he knew the season and not the world around her was unknown; but he did not dwell on it much as something else became clear. She was wearing the standard Coates uniform, and it triggered a memory buried deep inside his soul. He hadn't thought of this in ages, but he was inside a memory, watching her very clearly._

_Somehow Caine knew that she was waiting for it, even if she did nothing to show it, verbally or physically. She just stood there, face turned towards him, with her chocolate hair flowing to the left, playfully dancing with the wind. It shone like a thousand suns, but she didn't appear cocky over the fact that she was beautiful, even if she knew it very well. A little too well at times._

(It was first time she had acknowledged his pretence and allowed him to walk with her.)

_Suddenly his heart was beating so fast he struggled with hearing everything else, breath quickening because of his increasing heart rate. Caine wanted to go over there to meet her, to smile like an idiot in love and give a monstrous glare at any individual that gave her any look other than awe._

(But... Would she have lived if he hadn't talked to her, hadn't come near her, hadn't fallen in love with her, hadn't married her, hadn't had sex with her – which resulted in a death and a daughter...?)

_Caine stopped smiling. Both on the outside, and in his heart._

_Instead he gave the beautiful girl in front of him a blank look, and walked in the opposite direction. Away from her. Not even turning around, he could __feel __her frown, then __feel __her scowl, and the way she shrugged as if didn't bother her and continued._

_But it did bother Diana._

_Just like it bothered Caine._

(However, it had been better if it had not happened. Somethings are just not meant to happen at all.)

(Their relationship for an instance. Because Caine smiled in his heart when he knew the person he loved would never meet such a tragic end. Even if that meant sacrificing his own happiness.)

(But soon he realized that even if he wanted, he could not change the past. In his mind perhaps, but it would not change to truth. Diana was still dead because of him. Because of him. Not their daughter, she was just a product of it, he then realized with the flashback, but him. Caine Soren had killed Diana Ladris.)

(...With his love for her.)

.

.

Explanation of love. (_ˈ__l__ə__v_).  
>—<em>a deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness<em>.

.

.

It had lasted in an amount of three seconds where he hadn't been in this world. Blinking, his surroundings stopped being in a blur and he was staring at the dirty floor of a supermarket, _her_ death still existing and his daughter too, very much so.

Looking over at Taisie, he saw her watching him with eyes as wide as his own. It made him wonder what she saw him as. Was she enjoying her time with him? Probably not. She probably hated him for all those years he had spent ignoring her existence, and it was probably too late to form any relationship with her now, when she was old enough to think for herself.

Probably.

"Ah," was all Caine said when the brunette gave him a weird look. "I mean... I guess so."

Lifting the plastic bags a little too quick off the pay desk, he hurried towards the exit to decrease the feeling of humiliation – he had not proved her statement. Though it did not register that perhaps he was not so bad, because he made sure that Taisie was near him when he went out of the store, almost as if the action was a routine. Like if he had done it before, or perhaps even felt a desire to do so.

.

.

Taisie sat on the staircase in the living room, munching on some Snickers bar. It was a desert he'd given her after Mr. Pom-Pom had run outside, with the pudding that was meant for Taisie smeared all over its smug cat face.

Caine wandered back and forth, hand underneath his chin in a typical detective, I'm-thinking method, his thoughts clearly bothering him. When he spoke, his tone was anxious, but not angry.

"The train arrives at the station in an hour and a half."

"Uh-huh."

"And the idiot still hasn't come back."

Silence was between them for a while. "Um?" she suddenly made a noise indicating that she wanted his attention. The snickers bar laid by her side. Standing up, she twirled her fingers together, still not looking at him as if the content of her next sentence would make him mad.

"What?" Caine questioned. He crossed his arms when Taisie didn't continue, just buried her head in her shoulders, "It's bad to start something and not finish."

"I dun' think Uncle Sam is coming," she said finally, twirling becoming more intense and attention-absorbing. When he gave her a frown, she explained, lisp still in place, "Uncle Sam said it, the trip was for me and you."

No. Just _no_.

Taisie's brown eyes were sad. "Are we going on that trip?" her voice was tiny, quiet, and full of fear of the outcome.

She had just proven what Caine thought was the incident of Sam's sudden disappearance. How was he supposed to respond? Say that he didn't want to have anything to do with her? Caine opened his mouth, but not a word came out.

_No. _It was as if someone had just stolen his voice, taken it far away, making him stand there with lips parted, silent. After a few seconds and he figured he just... He just could _not _push Taisie away from his heart. Was it instinctual, a father's need to product their offspring? Or was it fear that Sam – the only human being that still cared about Caine – would stop caring about his deranged brother completely?

_No._ It was something much simpler. But not emptier, or darker. In fact, it was brighter than his previous assumptions. It was love. Love.

Love.

-The thing that had killed his wife.

Love.

-The thing that would probably kill his daughter too, if not just kill her mentally with his horrible parenting.

Love.

-The thing in Taisie's eyes when she had looked at the dango – he knew what is was now.

Love.

-The thing that kept him alive, and kept him from actually hating his daughter – it was out of love for Diana (perhaps it could get transferred from her to Taisie?) that he bent down, and said with a sigh...

.

.

Taylor's long, slender fingers locked around the tea cup. "You sure this is right?"

"It has to be."

She shook her head, taking a sip. She was aware that Sam had been sitting in this café for several hours, completely engulfing himself in sweet things. But when he wasn't eating right now, he was just staring into space, thinking – she'd seen it when entering the café through the window, before he had discovered her.

"He didn't seem angry, at least. Taisie had put on that emotionless mask, like you told her to do. But her eyes flickered hesitatingly, I think she's scared. I'm gonna ask again – are you sure this is a good idea? I don't think he feels anything towards her. At all."

"You don't know him. Or the outcome – you're not an oracle. I mean, he's my brother and Tai-Tai is my niece, and I want both of them to be happy."

"You can't do anything with Caine's happiness – he's as sour as an old sock. Kinda like that old cat lady on street four that keeps on yelling at me for wearing to short skirts." She made circles in her diet coke with the drinking straw.

"Miss. Yare? She's not that bad."

"Has someone developed a crush? I honestly thought you were gay."

"For Christ's sake Taylor, she's eighty! I like her because she buys my cakes for the double amount of money when I decorate them with icing spelling her cats' names. And just because I'm not interested in you romantically," Sam noticed the look she gave him, "or sexually, doesn't have anything to do with my sexual orientation!"

"So you _are_ gay?"

"I'm just not interested in finding a partner, I guess. And just 'cos I don't think about women's... down-there," a fresh blush made it to his cheeks, and the maids nearby who was listening barely managed to reduce the volume of their giggling – he was so adorable! "...does not mean I'm homo- or bisexual. I like it on my own, and I have Tai-Tai, Mr. Pom-Pom and Caine."

"Incest and zoophillia?"

If his cheek had been dusted with pink before, his face were now bright red. "Shut up," he said, embarrassed, innocent blue eyes going down while he finished his own coffee. No wonder he had managed to sit here for long – Taylor wondered how many cups he had drunk when sitting here.

Taylor just laughed and waved it away. They continued to speak for a while, about casual things, before they got back to the original topic. "They should be gone in an hour. What do we do if they aren't gone?"

"They must be." Sam's thin fingers tightened his hold on the coffee cup. "They need to. Caine _needs_ to. Even I need it – I just don't want Taisie to be unhappy."

"As stated previously, there is little you can do with Caine's terrible attitude. And don't you get that Taisie is already enjoying your company? You're the one that keeps forcing them on each other." His eyes became big and sad with her words, and she added quickly, "Don't be too harsh on yourself. I'm just sayin'. I know you're trying to help both of them, Sammy, but sometimes you just need to lay back and let Destiny to his job."

"No. Not if that Destiny is horrible, and even if it is meant to happen, I will never allow it to and try everything in my might to stop it." He nodded firmly.

"You're not gonna change your decision no matter what I say, right?"

Sam shook his head like a mentally retarded invalid on steroids, head to each side so fast she idly wondered if he was The Flash is disguise. Though she doubt The Flash could bake as good bread as Sam did and that The Flash sorely needed a girlfriend as much as the boy (man, but she would always see him as a hero full of hormones that got drunk and horny and had no idea how to cope with it) shaking his head before her.

"Well I need to go," she finally said, rather amused with his childish attitude. She waved to the maid who had sent her an ugly look when she'd spoke to Sam like _as if_ he was an idiot, and just to be bitchy to the stranger, she leaned over and kissed Sam on the forehead. He blinked, surprised, but smiled and gave her a quick hug.

Enjoying the feeling of strong, manly hands around her, she winked to the maid, her head on Sam's shoulder. She got a middle finger in return. Sam broke it before she could worsen the non-verbal argument over him, speaking with a cheerful and grateful voice, "Thanks for doing that for me, Taylor. Helping me with my plan, I mean. You're the best!"

"I know," Taylor laughed, pulling away. He was taller than her, so she had to look up, but he somehow appeared a lot cuter than her as well. Oh well. She knew she was sexier than him, so that was that.

When walking out the door and passing the large café window on her way out, she spotted Sam again. He was in his thoughtful mode again, and she saw that his eyes were sad – he had obviously taken the words about him trying to force Taisie and Caine to his mind.

'_But it was the truth,' _Taylor thought.

He just wanted to help.

Even after all those years – his midnight-blue eyes hadn't changed.

Sam Temple was still a hero at heart.

And he would continue to spread the love around him, whenever he could.

.

.

…"We're going on that trip."

.

.

"_Please... __Have __a... __Have __a __wonderful __life... __Forever!__" _-Fuko

.

[**Country ****Lain**]

.

.

"You got everything?"

Taisie nodded and looked up and him, dead-serious. She was clutching her small backpack as if losing it would lead to her demise. Caine hallucinated that he heard Mr. Pom-Pom giving an evil cat laugh from the corner of the room – getting ready to jump out of a corner and claw his daughter's backpack to pieces – but cast a look over there and saw no evil cats.

"Well then. And we locked all the doors, right?"

"Um-hum!"

"Ok," he picked up the big backpack of his own, inside some clothes for both of them, money, some food and other crap you needed for a tour far away from home. The tickets were only for one night at a pretty cheap hotel. But what did Sam wish to achieve? A lovey-dovey dramatic family moment between father and daughter? Caine almost felt bad for the idiot because such things would happen when the dead came back to the world of the living. This meant **never**.

"Let's go."

He guided her out, locking the door after him.

'_Wherever __you __are __Sam__ – __you__'__re __an __idiot, __leaving __me __alone __with __her.__'_

Mr. Pom-Pom went out the cat-door, and as if the cat had heard him, started pissing nearby, and would have pissed at Caine's shoes if it wasn't a possibility of being kicked away. Caine just sent the cat a disgusted and offended look, taking Taisie's small hand in his to drag her away.

He didn't notice the look of shock that crossed her face – her dad held her hand willingly, for the first time in her entire life. A sensation of emotions blushed up inside her, and she felt warm and fuzzy inside.

.

.

Caine leaned backwards, the material of the seats in the petite train not really _that_ comfortable for his incredibly high king standards, but just good enough to provide his back some needed luxury. He saw nature pass by his window, but it did not interest him that much.

Besides, he'd allowed Taisie to sit with the window – even if she hadn't said a word, she'd _begged _for it, and he wasn't the one to defy her nonverbal request without a reason – and she seemed completely engrossed in the forests and mountains that passed. "Pretty," she said in awe.

He just shrugged, trying to ignore the noises other people produced. Taisie's voice wasn't that bad, quiet and reserved and even if she had a lisp, it was never obnoxious nor loud enough to be annoying. He checked the silver clock on his left arm, calculating that it was one hour until they would be at the hotel, thereafter stroking out some wrinkles in his coal-coloured shirt.

"So anything you want to do?" he asked after a while.

Taisie looked at him. "Yeah."

"Like what?" When she had no answer, he asked again, "What do you usually do with the idiot?" The term idiot had become so over-used that Taisie immediately knew who he was talking about.

"Surf."

"I mean something you can do inside." Sam taught her to surf? What the hell? She was a girl, Caine thought, she was supposed to like blonde Barbies and pink girly things! Hadn't Diana once told him, when he delivered one of his cliché king speeches, that she had wanted to be a princess? That was how he expected a girl to act. But with a second look, he found out that Taisie wasn't girlish. He looked at big brown eyes, and realized that she wasn't Diana.

"Read books."

"Do you have any books with you?"

"No."

Caine sighed and Taisie went back to twirling her thumbs around each other. What did she have in that bag anyway? Not clothes and food, he had handled that. Then he saw a small orange thing and realized – it was the dango. She'd probably taken all other things out to fit the big dango toy in her backpack. What an odd girl.

She noticed him looking at it and took it out to prove his point. It didn't take long before the dango was in her lap, and she had fun poking it and observing how when you pushed one spot all the wool inside it went to another. Even her playing was quiet, and once he again he felt a slight amount of gratefulness for this.

"You could have asked for a more girly toy you know. I wouldn't have said no to – what do you kids call it these days...? – some Barbie dolls."

"I like this one."

"You sure?" Caine frowned down at her.

"Um-hum!" She squeezed the dango into a hug, as if he'd steal it.

Caine sighed and went back to staring blankly in front of him.

Some boy on his left was screaming at his mother, obviously pissed about some toy he didn't get. Caine stared at the scene, the kid, who couldn't be more than ten, using his fists as hammers and providing as much damage to his poor mother as he possibly could. He couldn't make out her expression, but saw her back and her long brown hair and was momentarily reminded of Diana.

Suddenly furious, he shouted in a thundering voice, "Take some concern of the other passengers you little brat!" When the mother turned to look at him with wide, scared and shocked eyes, he noticed that she was way too old to be Diana and all the rage flew out off him like if somebody had stuck a hole in a balloon. The boy's face was bright red with embarrassment; the utter demotic rage in Caine's voice and eyes had made him feel like quite an insignificant little shit and the fact that many passengers had turned to watch the commotion only worsened the utter humiliation.

"I'm sorry," the mother apologized in a trembling voice, "It won't happen again." She was one of those weaker people; Caine could sense it. Perhaps she was secretly grateful too, but he didn't find it in him to care. Nor did he follow the actions of the person beside him.

Caine gave her a scowl and went back to watching his clock, only to find the seat beside him empty. Taisie-?

Sam would murder him if he found out! And even if he did not want to admit it, a stick of panic hurt in the back of his head. He was worried for her. He felt _something_.

But he could not dwell over the amazement he felt for long, instead rushing up and hurrying towards the nearest bathroom to look if she had gone there without telling him. Just like he suspected, Taisie was standing alone, not facing him, with her head buried in her hands.

"Taisie, it's rude to just leave- Wait," Caine's fingers uncurled from fists, and he felt shock wash over his entire being, "Were you crying?" Brown eyes were red-shot and puffy, but Taisie had already dried the tears away. Obviously, his anger had upset her. Not in the degree that she was angry at him, but perhaps she'd felt scared or sad becase of it.

"No."

Silence.

"Don't hold 'em back," Caine said suddenly. "You can cry as much as you'd like when you're little, but when you turn into an adult, there are times when you want to cry but you're not allowed."

Taisie blinked, but the tears were gone. "Not allowed by who?"

Tilting his head to the side, he crossed his arms. He'd managed to wrinkle his shirt again, and he made it back to normal again when noticing. One time a magestetic perfectionist, always a magestetic perfectionist. "Yourself," he said bluntly.

"But... Uncle Sam told me there are places I can cry. In the bathroom..." She looked like she wanted to continue, but the words somehow got stuck in her throat.

"I guess that makes sense. No one can see you cry in the bathroom." Caine brushed a few stands of brown hair away from his face. He shifted slightly, before rubbing the back of his head, not sure what to say or do. "Let's get back, eh?"

The petite form nodded and followed him.

.

.

Taisie was tired. The rest of the trip there had been torture, filled with a long uncomfortable silence, and venomous looks from the boy in the other seat (who had been silent the whole tour since Caine gave him a killer-glare each time his volume rose over acceptable standards), with poor Taisie not daring to say a word in case her father would explode in anger again. But strangely enough, Caine didn't feel anger or anything. He, too, felt merely tired.

They didn't really say much as he hooked a taxi and asked him to drive them to the nearest hotel. The taxi-driver gave Caine a short nod, helping them with getting their backpacks into the car, his eyes being gentler to Taisie than they were to her father. Caine did notice, but he was used to hatred and did not comment upon it. Guessing he gave of the aura off a bad daddy, he merely sighed helplessly and helped Taisie to climb into the car.

"So where you two going?" the man asked after half an hour, surprising the others with the sudden voicing what he had been pondering on. His voice was gentle but at the same time firm – and it also hinted a slight accent of having been living in another country for a while. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his shirt showed hints of muscles. His dark skin tone complimented his semi-expensive all-black clothing perfectly. But there was an eternal lack of emotion on the stranger's face, making it unreadable for Caine.

"They recommended some trip to a town nearby," Caine said quietly.

"Hm. Town Seitoi?

"Yeah."

For some reason, the man looked like he didn't want to continue the conversation, but did it anyway. Whenever it was out of politeness or another reason were unknown. "You should check out the park there. Great for children."

"I'll do that," Caine replied, at least knowing that his own response had been out of mere politeness.

In a flash was how rest of the day passed.

Soon the two of them found themselves with a little cheap hotel near a big city, the one that was a few hours from their small hometown. Caine found himself missing it, the tranquil little place where he'd hidden for what seemed like decades, now that he was away from it. An excellent place for a celebrity who didn't want any of the stuff that came with being famous. The mystery of The FAYZ was no longer the hot stuff, oh no, he'd heard that the latest was a dog that could bark the entire alphabet.

(_'__Is __there __any __wonder __this __world sickens and __dies?__'_).

Strange thing was that he hadn't seen the name badge on the taxi-driver's chest, spelling "Escobar" with white letters.

The man pulled out a phone. "I did my part. Now it's up to him, I can't help them any longer."

"_Thank __you, __Edilio,__" _was the quiet reply.

He smiled, white teeth contrasting dark skin.

"No problemo, Sam, my friend."

.

.

Caine said nothing as the two of them moved towards their hotel room. What had Sam expected of him? To face some sort of responsibility? That was nonsense. He felt nothing, hadn't he voiced that? Nothing more than the remains of his love for Diana, but that was something else entirely.

Suddenly he noticed that Taisie had stopped a few steps behind him.

"What?"

She blinked a few times. "Tell me 'bout Mommy."

Caine's eyes widened, then he looked down, hair falling into his face to block the sight of what he was feeling. "Ask Sam."

"Uncle Sam told me to ask you."

There was the sound of teeth being ground together. "Then tell him I didn't tell you anything." He walked further, this time not looking past his shoulder to see if she was following. Taisie's brown orbs grew wide and sad, but she followed him nevertheless.

.

.

When stepping outside, a weak winter wind met them. Snow was falling, but it was the dry sort of snow, the one impossible to make anything in but that didn't melt when it touched the ground. It was the snow Caine preferred of his most hated material – snow, a reminder of what had killed...

What had killed Diana.

Wow. He'd... He'd managed to think it through for once. It was odd, but what even odder, was how his attention wasn't on himself but on Taisie, when she ran around and tried to catch snowflakes with her tongue. She didn't let herself loose completely – he noticed that – but a five-year-old has some serious problems staying silent all the time.

Was Taisie enjoying herself?

Yes.

Caine's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Taisie giggled a bit, the dango still underneath her arm. It wasn't wet from all the snow – she protected it, carrying it so it wouldn't fall down. She cared for it. She loved it. Caine felt no need to ask if that was the toy she'd really wanted. The small figure almost looked like a brown furball because of her big winter jacket.

He walked beside Taisie, the key to their hotel safely in the pocket of his thick jacket. First he exhaled the cold winter air, then watching in some interest how smoke blew out of his nostrils. He quickly looked at her again though.

"Dango, dango, dango, dango," she said in a sing-song type of voice, "Dango, daikazoku." She held the dango over her head as she ran around with it, laughing in joy.

"We'll take a pause here. It's a nice place," Caine called out to her. Snow flakes twinkled like diamonds and he couldn't help but sink down with a tree, feeling calm, and not really thinking much about the past and future for once, just enjoying the laughter of an excitedhuman being. Although it was cold, the low temprature couldn't get through the thick layers of clothes he'd brought with him. Thank god he'd also insisted on buying Taisie new winter clothes as well.

"Don't run too far," he said groggily, closing his eyes for a moment.

...only for a moment.

.

.

He was awakened by a shaky voice.

"Daddy?"

"Hm?" Caine cracked an eye open, stretching. It was night now, and he could tell that Taisie had played for a long time because of the redness in her cheeks.

"Lost it."

"What?" he rubbed his eyes, everything becoming clear. The snow still twinkled in pristine white from the light from a nearby lamp post.

"Dango." She glowed red in shame, all the redness not coming from just the cold but also humiliation.

Caine sighed, but not really angry, making her look up and stare at him with a pitiful expression. He just ran a hand through his hair, sighing again, "Really? And you tried look for it after you lost it?"

"Um-hum. Can't find it." She looked down, almost trembling as if her heart was so heavy it would fall into her legs. She put her thumb to her mouth and gnawed at it, and Caine was surprised that she'd gotten that habit from him. But not in the mood to deal with crying daughters (he was never it that mood, never) he bent down and picked her up.

Wow she was light!

That was a surprise too, thinking about how Sam always feed her snacks or anything else he made in his little bakery.

Caine placed it on his shoulders, and went towards the over-snowed field where she'd played. The snow was stomped down many places, and he tried in vain to find the damned thing. "Can you see it from up there?" he asked Taisie, who was busy admiring her view from up there, a small smile on her face. But it instantly vanished with his words.

There was a little silence. "No."

He put her down again, and she looked even more miserable then. But like the people-knower Caine was, he didn't notice it. "Jeeze. Next time, be a little more careful with your things, okay? I don't think we'll find it in this snow." He started kicking a nearby heap of snow.

Taisie started trembling.

"Hey..." He turned around, and bent down. "Hey, I'll buy you a new one, 'kay?" There was actual concern there, on his features and body language, but he was too into the situating to care. Slowly, and a little awkwardly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. He tightened his grip there and gave a half-smile, not entirely sure how to act like he cared, which he did for once.

She looked up. Not a tear was shed, but she was watery. "That won't do. There's only one."

Caine frowned, and stood on his knees so he was just a head above her. Snow still fell all around them, and the moon provided light upon Taisie's pale little face. "What are you talking about... Taisie? There were many... _dangos_ left at the store...?"

"No, first thing..." Taisie didn't know where to look at first, but the little support from the hand made her make brown meet brown. Desperation in her shining orbs. "First thing from daddy."

Caine stared, then drew the hand away as quickly as possible.

And again he was blinded by bright flash.

.

.

[**Nagisa ****Warm ****Piano ****Version**, skip ahead till about **1:40**.]

.

.

"_Life __is __mysterious. __Where __does __it __come __from, __where __does __it __go_?" -Ryou

.

.

_Caine had shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched her go towards the Coates building, alone on the hard concrete. As she walked, she also walked away from his heart, but not disappearing out of it, merely out of reach. He attempted to smile calmly, knowing he was saving her life as well as his own, increasing the chance of not being the reason behind her future death._

_But then..._

_A flicker. Diana had turned around, watching him with sadness, big and brown orbs directed at him if not only for a moment before she continued to walk into an unclear mist. He stared, and found himself thinking not only about Diana, but on Taisie as well. If he didn't do anything... If he'd never met Diana, she would not exist. She would never laugh, hug the dango, fall on sour cats or experience anything of that sort. No joy. No sadness either, but that was what life was all about:_

_Happiness and sadness and tragedy and chance and tears and joy and life._

_He turned towards her, and screamed his lungs out._

"_**Diana!**"_

_She did not turn around._

_Caine stood there, only for a moment, but then started running, slowly at first, then speed doubling until he reached out to her. Diana managed just to turn around when she'd heard the footsteps coming out her, making a small sound of shock as boy arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a tight embrace, the boy – man – clutching her like if he let go she'd vanish from him forever._

"_Diana, I'm right here!"_

_She smiled, and suddenly leaves weren't falling all around them anymore, the Coates building vanishing completely. Instead they were back where he'd first asked her to marry, but he couldn't concentrate long enough before drawing her back into a tight hug._

"_I know you are," she mumbled against his shoulders, placing two tiny hands on his back, "I always did. But you gave me quite a scare there though," her voice was shaky, "I thought you meant that it was better if we'd never met, Caine... Well I'm glad you didn't." She smiled, a true smile she almost never wore._

_He hugged her tighter, then let her go for a seconds. His legs felt like jelly, and he wanted nothing more than to just worship the ground she walked on. "Diana..."_

"_You see, I'm glad I met you. Really, really glad I met you, and I don't want you to ever regret meeting me. Y'know," she chewed a bit on her bottom lip while she spoke, and then laid the palms of her hands against his cheeks and gently leant his face towards hers, "I had a good life, much thanks to you." She kissed him, and smelled like angels ought to smell._

"_Diana... I..." Fresh tears were steaming down his cheeks, and he tried to dry it away with the sleeve of his shirt, but more just came streaming. His voice had been reduced to mere sobs, and Diana didn't mind as he pulled her close again. "I..."_

_She pressed a finger to his lips. "Shh... Caine, please don't lose everything because of me. Don't lose him, and most importantly don't lose her. I know you believe otherwise – you've always done that – but some people other than me care for you quite a lot, Caine. And acting like a pompous prick – in other words, yourself," and even if being dead for many years, her sarcasm was still in place, "will not make them feel good about themselves. Promise me."_

_A pause._

"_Is... Is it too much to ask?"_

_Caine smiled through tears, not trying to dry them away now since more just appeared. "You were right. God I'm so sorry, you were always so right. I promise you on my life, on my very own life."_

_Not knowing what good he could do for her, he first wanted to kiss her, but then stopped. Instead he brought her tiny hands up to his face, first laying them against his chin just to feel her body warmth, and then he kissed them one by one. "I love you," he muttered._

"_I know that too Caine," she said, "and you know I love you too. You've always known, deep inside. Deep in," she pointed at his chest, "here."_

_And now when the feeling was right, he leaned forward to kiss her._

.

.

Akio: **[swings ****baseball ****bat]**_"__Sanae, __did __you __see __that __shot?__"_

Sanae: "_Yes!__"_

Akio: _You __fell __in __love __with __me__al l__over __again, __didn__'__t __you?_

Sanae: **[smiles] **"_Yes!__"_

Tomoya: **[swings ****baseball ****bat]**** "**_Nagisa, __did __you __see __that __shot?__"_

Nagisa:_ "__Yes!__"_

Akio: "_You __fell __in __love __with __him __all __over __again, __didn__'__t __you?__"_

Nagisa: "_Yes- _Dad_?__"_

Akio: _"__...Eh? __WHAT __SO __SHE __IS __REALLY __IN __LOVE __WITH __HIM?__"_

.

.

[**The ****Place ****Where ****Wishes ****Come ****True ****Version ****II. **Make sure that it's the second version though.]

.

.

"Daddy?"

Caine blinked several times. Then he looked at his daughter, who was still standing there, filled with a sadness he couldn't repair into happiness. But... He needed to try.

His meeting with Diana had awakened so many emotions in him, some that were locked down for no one to find and others who'd been there all along but he just hadn't acknowledged them. Like affection for other human beings.

He found himself concerned for Taisie – he found out that he'd been along, just hidden behind depression and tragedy to avoid responsibility and care in sheer fright that he would lose another.

Now. There was no more time left – for some reason, something within him urged him to do it now and here and not then and there.

"Taisie..." his lips formed her name, and he bent a little more forward to hear her upcoming answer.

"Um-hum?"

"Was it fun to go with me on this trip?"

Quiet. He was so quiet, knowing what the expect and attempting to prepare himself for the criticism.

Taisie looked thoughtful for a moment, but then she decided. "Um-hum!"

He looked, astonished. "Really?" he didn't manage to hide the excitement.

Would he manage to hold his promise?

There wasn't a single doubt in him that thought the small flashback-thing he'd just experienced wasn't real. Her breathe, her flesh, her voice, it had all been too real to be fake. After a retarded kid with superpowers had locked the residents of Perdido Beach and Coates in an upside-down fishbowl supernatural things didn't freak him out anymore.

"Um-hum."

"So... Would it be alright for me to... Visit you sometimes? A little more than before?"

'_...Just stay with you sometimes? Just... just be with you.'_

That was what he wanted, but the latter were mere thoughts, shadows of his emotions that didn't manage to squeeze themselves out from his mouth, blocked by fear for rejection.

She looked confused, and Caine continued, swallowing thickly as the next words were forced out of his throat by no one other than himself, "I've been a very bad daddy for many years. I know that but... I just want to try it a bit, okay? Being a father. I'm not sure what to do and I get all weird," he was on his knees now in front of his daughter.

She stayed just as serious, but then nodded. "Um-hum!"

"Really?"

"I want you to stay with me," she said.

"Thank you," Caine smiled to himself, a smile of relief and happiness, "Thank you so much." He went on his knees again, still smiling. It was one of those comfortable silences, he decided. And he decided to not think over it too much, just enjoy the fact that he'd come a little closer to her.

"But..."

"Hm?" Caine bent forward again, a mere pair of centimeters in-between their faces.

With that, she continued, "But I lost something important today so I'm sad."

"Oh..."

She continued even though he hadn't said anything important, "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it... Is it alright to n-not hold it in... anymore?" Her hair fell into his face, creating a shadow to her watery eyes.

"Uncle Sam told me there are only two places I can cry..."

_She hadn't run away to sulk when she'd fallen down those stairs, she'd run to the bathroom._

"...in the bathroom..."

_Whenever life got though, she had a place where she'd go. Alone perhaps, but sometimes you needed to be alone for certain things. You need to be on your own to work it all out, to continue with life._

_Life is full of mystery, tragedy, and the chance of everything falling apart in minutes. But it the great thing about it being mysterious, is that in one second, everything that had been gruesome and driving you to suicide could become bright and happy in the next. The secret wasn't to stop when it became worse, but to continue until it became better._

"...and in Daddy's arms."

_It is always darkest before dawn._

Her uncle had told her to be strong, to be serious, to be cold and uncaring if treated badly – he'd told her that life doesn't always work out the way you want it to, but sometimes, if you wish something really, really badly, it might happen. And she'd wished, wished really, really badly that her father would stop be so sad.

The same with Uncle Sam – he got this blue face whenever she asked about her daddy or her mommy, he'd become so distant, crying- but not really crying. Crying inside, maybe?

Caine tilted his head to the side, looking just as distant and blue as her uncle. But instead of losing it completely and going to his own little fantasy world, he shook it off, misery on his features. Oh god, he had started weeping again! "Y-Yeah..." he tried first, but too low for anyone to hear. "Yeah! You can let it out, if you want..."

Taisie didn't say anything, just took a few steps forward until she literally ran into his arms, her small arms taking hold of the fabric of the shirt. Her tiny body shook at first, before a few almost strangled sobs escaped her. Caine looked up, his hand tangling itself in her hair and the other one wrapped around her body to drag her even closer.

Slowly, she started to cry, going from mere shaking to downright crying out in unhappiness in seconds.

"I'm sorry," Caine muttered, broken, knowing that his ignorance must have cost her more than he could imagine.

"I'm so sorry..." Had he completely destroyed Diana's memory when he'd even been too plagued to say her name? He'd locked himself within himself, refusing to come out, living in a daze. No, actually, he hadn't been living at all. It hurt quite a lot thinking about it, how he'd wasted years drowning in his own misery, most of his self-produced.

"I'm so, so sorry..." he told her, staying completely still and allowing her fingernails to dig into the skin on his back. He welcomed the pain, and he deserved it he guessed, even though it probably wasn't intentional. He'd try... He'd try, for Diana, at least. "So sorry..."

She continued to cry, not saying anything but just letting it all out, all what she'd held in all those years. Why hadn't daddy come for her? Why had he refused to look at her? Was it something she'd done? All those question remained unanswered, but Taisie no longer had the need to know the answer, just that he... he would be her.

Bad daddy or not, he was still her daddy.

She would always want to know of him. Who was the person hugging her? Sam had told her various stories, always keeping her expectation high. It was only later she understand that her father wasn't that much on an angel, even if Sam tried to keep it that way, not making her downright adore him, but making her at least _like _him a bit.

The two of them stayed like that, until the tears were dried up.

.

.

[Final important OST installment: **The ****Palm ****of ****a ****Tiny ****Hand**]

.

.

_Tooku de tooku de yureteru inaho no umi_  
>(<em>Far away, far away, the sea of rice plants wavers)<em>

"Bye bye Miss. Yare! Thanks for the cash and all!"

Sam waved her goodbye, his big kettle holder threatening to fall off. She just waved in return as she walked, muttering something about cute bakers who were way too young for her. Sam went inside the bakery again, thinking about the thing that had bothered him for a long time.

Mr. Pom-Pom gave a small _meow_, rubbing himself against Sam's foot. It wasn't in something as weak as submission, it was just a trick to get Sam to make him more food.

But instead, Sam took Mr. Pom-Pom and placed the fat cat up up one of the empty desks, smiling. "Y'know the vet said I should cut down on all the food I give you, or you'll become even more overweight. And she said overweight causes death and... I'm not too fond of that."  
>So Sam was apologizing for not killing Mr. Pom-Pom.<p>

Typical.

The fresh smell of new-baked cookies appeared, and Sam went towards the stove to see if they were finished. He said nothing, just continued smiling, as he sat them at a nearby desk. It was a painful smile, and he was obviously thinking about other things when he lost one of the cookies and bent down to take it up. Mr. Pom-Pom used the distraction to jump on top of Sam's head, the auburn-haired owner not complaining one bit though.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked the cat, and as expected, got no answer. But when he turned to the big sales window of the bakery, and was surprised to see Caine strolling towards him.

He ran out, surprised to find the couple in mid-conversation. Caine appeared to have slept less than usual, his steps slow and stumbling. But he still didn't tear his eyes away from Taisie, who was walking right beside him, listening intensely as he spoke. "...then she'd always give some sarcastic comment that would set make him, y'know, that bad guy, go all mad but he didn't do a thing because he knew I'd... _make __him __sorry_if he did anything against her..."

God Caine was horrible with kids.

_'__Sam__'__s __problem,__'_ Mr. Pom-Pom thought and went away, wanting to be nowhere near Satan's offspring (she'd almost pulled his tail straight off once!) and Satan himself. When Mr. Pom-Pom understood on the expression on Sam's face that he wasn't exactly calm, the jumped up on his owner's head, deciding to give him some sorely-needed mental support.

_Ho wo age ho wo age mezashita omoide he to_  
>(<em>Raising the rice, raising the rice, we aimed for the memory)<em>

"Uncle Sam!"

Turning around in slow-motion, eyes going wide, Sam saw a smile on Taisie's face.

She didn't run to greet him though, her hand just stayed in Caine's.

Caine stopped a few decimetre in front of his brother. Then he searched his pocket, Sam still staring mindlessly at him, and used an old train-ticket to slap Sam across the face. It certainly hurt more than Sam expected, but he couldn't produce anymore logical or smarter than a stammered "W-What?"

"You didn't show up."

Several seconds passed.

"...What?"  
>Caine sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look... I... I'm tired, and I'm sure Taisie is too. Could I just... I don't know, stay here for tonight?" The sentence had vague issues being said, and Sam was too shocked to make any remotely talking-like sounds for a little while.<p>

Then he seemed to comprehend what was asked of him. "Yeah! Of course you can stay, you can sleep on the couch if you want, or I can take the couch, or you can, and I can sleep on the floor, and-"

"I'll just take the couch," Caine interrupted, face-palming because of Sam's disability to shut up.

Sam blinked happily, an odd smile on his face, and eyebrows as high as eyebrows possibly can get. Taisie had finally caught up with them and was now panting, leaning on Caine's leg. Not fully focused on the this, but still quite aware of the rare situation, Sam's smile was gone and replaced with a serious frown. Something had happened to them in that trip.

The question was if this was negative or positive.

_Bokura ha kyou made no kanashii koto zenbu oboeteru ka, wasureta ka__  
>(<em>_Do we remember the sad things that have happened before today, or have we forgotten them?)_

Some time passed.

Caine didn't know what to say. Should he thank his brother for all those years? Did Sam expect some sort of a thankful bow? Although being called idiotic a thousand times, he wasn't _that_ idiotic.

"She's sleeping," Sam said finally, walking out on the porch where Caine sat, quiet. A few crickets produced music not far away, and sometimes a car or two passed, but other than that it was quiet. Sam sat down, finding no words that fit the strange little moment between the Temple brothers.

So Caine decided he'd begun this talk.

"Y'know... I guess she's... a lot like you."

"Really?"

"Minus the idiot and ugly part of course," Caine shot back, but felt a bit bad – he was staying in Sam's house after all, the guy he'd just insulted, and not just in his head this time. But Sam didn't appear offended, just smiled.

The smile grew peaceful, a kind of tranquillity Caine wished he possessed. "She looks a lot like Diana..." Noticing his error, Sam immediately turned towards his brother with a gawking expression, "Oh- I'm sorry, didn't mean to spray salt in an old wound or anything it just... God I'm sorry."

_Chiisana te ni mo itsukara ka bokura oikoshiteku tsuyosa_  
>(<em>Even in this tiny hand, there could someday be strength surpassing our own)<em>

"Don't be," Caine answered nonchalantly, well, as nonchalantly as he could manage. "It's fine, I shouldn't be afraid to say her name, even if she's... dead."

The last part was choked out, made cracks in Caine's little façade. Uncertainly, as if his hand would get smacked away, Sam laid a hand on his Caine's shoulder in a decent attempt on comfort. Any other reaction would have been to smack it away yes, but Caine found himself unable to.

"You shouldn't hold it in," he continued, "You always said that, though I wasn't an extremely good listener."

"Yeah."

_Ureta budou no shita naiteta hi kara aruita__  
>(<em>_From the day I cried beneath the ripe grapes, I started to walk)_

Caine cleared his throat, the cold night air making him shiver a bit. Sam gave him a wool blanket, and revived an embarrassed "Thanks" in return, but didn't make a scene out of it. "What I was saying, was, she's learned a lot by you and stuff. She's doesn't speak much though, and say what she wants for once would be a rather nice change, but at least it is polite."

"Just 'cos she's your daughter doesn't make her mean or loud-mouthed, Caine."

"Well just because you're her uncle doesn't make her ugly like you, Sam," Caine shot back.

Sam laughed. It was a boyish laugh, one that Caine hadn't heard on ages. When finished, he looked over at his brother, crossing his legs in a relaxing manner. "Life-changing trip and all, you're still Cainey."

_Chiisana te de mo hanarete mo bokura ha kono michi yukunda_  
>(<em>Even if my hand is small, even if we're separated, we'll walk this road)<em>

"Don't call me that."

"What?"

"Cainey."

"'Kay."

Caine shifted uncomfortably. "I'm really trying to say it, but it's hard. So I'm just gonna be straight-forward." Caine took a deep breath, as if preparing himself to meet a dragon and save a princess. "I'm saying you've done a splendid job of raising my... daughter, while I was... unable to."

What would the response be?

Forgiveness?

Anger?

Hate?

_Itsuka kuru hi ha ichiban no omoide wo shimatte__  
>(<em>_And on the day that will someday come, we'll store away our best memories)_

No, nothing of that sort.

Sam just smiled.

"Thank you."

Thankfulness.

He folded his hands in his lap, and his naïve blue eyes became half-lidded. Then he closed then, and breathed in the scent of warm bread and winter air. A wind – where did it come from? – played with his hair. Silence erupted again, but this time it was a comfortable one, the one that them both could sink back and relax.

"It means a lot. It really, really does."

Caine turned to him.

There it was...

That emotion he wasn't able to identify before now. In those naïve crystal eyes, it shone, buried behind layers of good-will and kindness, buried because of others, _for_ others even.

_Kisetsu ha utsuri mou tsumetai kaze ga__  
>(<em>_The seasons change; already the cold wind)_

"Y'know..." Caine began, unsure.

"Hm?"

"You don't have to hold it in anymore. You always said that to me."

There he paused again.

"Yes?"

_Tsutsumarete nemure ano haru no uta no naka de__  
>(<em>_Wraps around us and sleeps inside the song of that spring)_

"The day Diana died in our apartment, the day it snowed so much, the day Taisie was born... You didn't cry. Not one bit. I remember hating you for it, thinking that you didn't care about Diana... or perhaps I thought you didn't care about me. Why? Why didn't you throw yourself at the ground like I did and sob it out? Why did you take the child given to you – no, thrown at you...?"

A single tear ran down Sam's cheek.

"Was it because you felt like you owed it to me? Why didn't you cry Sam? Why weren't you affected, like every reasonable human being would-?"

"'Cos I couldn't afford being human, brother," Sam cut him off, voice full of emotion. "I couldn't cry, because if I broke, everything would break. When you laid there at the ground, when you threw yourself at the ground, and first, I was terrified. I recall thinking "Is this what love does to you?". The reasonable answer was yes. But... Then I started blocking out the sounds, and all I could see was Taisie reaching for me. For _me_, and think, and I wasn't even part of it!"

_Chiisana te ni mo itsukara ka bokura oikoshiteku tsuyosa__  
>(<em>_Even in this tiny hand, there could someday be strength surpassing our own)_

It stung.

But it wasn't spraying salt in the wound, rather, it was sewing it shut with an emotional needle.

Which of them the wound belonged to was unclear.

"If I gave up... If I broke, everything would break, including you. I had to stay strong, for you, and for Taisie, and even for Diana. I promised her to take care of you. She said... she s-said..." a chuckle-sob escaped him, "that big brothers obligated to watch out for the little ones that comes after them, even if said little ones were sociopathic megalomaniac assholes. And if I didn't she'd kick my ass that even being in the afterlife wouldn't stop her from making me end up in a hospital."

"You'd break, and I would break, and everything would shatter. I didn't want to lose another, and I guess I needed to step in and kick fate's ass, demanding that she'd let Taisie stay close to you and maybe one day grow so close that you would accept her."

A deep breath.

_Nureta hoo ni ha dore dake no egao ga utsutta_  
>(<em>Those wet cheeks reflected a number of smiles)<em>

Sam dried away that single tear, no longer crying.

Never crying.

"You asked me why I didn't cry – why I never cry, never after that episode. The honest answer is that I don't have time for crying. I had to raise a child, from the beginning, and learn new ways to survive. No longer loaf around with my pathetic surfer job, I had to learn cooking from scratch. I was too busy to ponder about life's cruelty, honestly." Then he grinned.

"But don't take it as if I'm dissatisfied with these years. I learned to take one day at time, facing both beauty and cruelty. Have you ever seen a child walk for the first time, Caine? No? Well let me tell you, it's quite an experience. Days passed and I smiled, was angry, perhaps a little too strict at times, but it was all the grant her a greater start in this cruel – but beautiful – world. I hadn't time to cry over the past when the future was so much more important."

_Chiisana te de mo hanarete mo bokura ha kono michi yukunda_  
>(<em>Even if my hand is small, even if we're separated, we'll walk this road)<em>

Sam sighed.

"I really hope you understand. We're a family, even if we're not that close."

Brown eyes were wide, but narrowed.

"Then it's settled."

"What?" Sam looked surpised.  
>"It's your turn to cry now. You've done enough. It's my turn to take some of the burden, not just dwell on the past. I'm finished. I'm finished with the past. Although it creates people, it can also destroy them. I fail to let it destroy my life any longer. So," he took another ones of those deep exhales, "it is your turn to cry. You've done far, far enough."<p>

"W-W-What?" Sam stammered.

_Soshite kuru hi ha bokura mo omoide wo shimatta__  
>(<em>_And on the new day we too stored away our memories)_

"I won't move until you're finished. Not an inch. I'll sit here until you've finished crying." Caine was facing another direction, staring at the moan, his tone calm but his face calmer. He was sitting in a yoga-position, relaxing.

The muscles under Sam's eyes started to twitch violently. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were full of saltwater he hadn't released in five whole years. His shoulders started shaking violently, and his hands went up to his face to hide the miserable expression.

It started quietly at first.

A few sobs.

Sam soon buried his head in Caine's shoulder, making his shirt wet with tears.

"I d-d-didn't... w-want her t-to... die Caine..." he finally choked out, after what seemed like eternal minutes of pure agony on Sam's part.

"I know," Caine said, "I know."

It went on for hours.

Then Sam retreated, slowly, eyes red and puffy.

They sat in silence.

"Would it be alright if I moved in with you?" Caine wondered. "My apartment holds too many memories..."

"Memories make you-"

"And break you. I know that, Sam, but like I said, I want to create a future, not dwell on the past. I have my memories here," he pointed at his own head, "not in the walls of my apartment. But would it be alright? I won't make a big deal of it, just..."

"Of c-course," Sam stammered, "You're always welcome."

"Thanks." _'__...My __idiot __brother.__'_

_Chiisana te mo itsu no hi ka bokura oikoshite yukunda__  
>(<em>_Even this tiny hand will one day pass by us)_

This was like the hundredth time Sam wiped his tears on his shirt arm. "B-But I better go check on Taisie... Remember that the couch is yours, but I'll make up the storage room for you tomorrow or something!"

"That would be great, Sam," Caine said, smiling.

"Y-Yeah."

For now, Caine would just sit and stare at the dark sky for a little while.

He looked up, smiling.

"It's odd, isn't it?" he asked to himself. "Life. Where does it come from, where does it go?"

Again this strange breeze toyed with his hair, and he felt as if someone close was near.

Ah.

How strange. He'd just felt as if she was near him again... Somehow.

"D-Diana?"

No answer_.__ '__I __must__'__ve __been __hallucinating.__'_

A shout brought him out of his trance. "Caine? Are you coming? I made the sofa ready for you!"

"Coming!" Caine called, and easy as that, it was forgotten. He saw Taisie through the glass door into the house, sleeping at the couch. Sneaky little beast had managed to crawl into his couch while they'd been talking at the porch. Yes, there it was proven that he was the father. Caine smiled a tired smile. He went back to his family...

His little _dango_ family.

_Yagate kuru hi ha atarashii kisetsu wo hiraita__  
>(<em>_And on the new day, a new season began)_

.

Mr. Pom-Pom watched the scene from the fence, looking at the man returning to his new house. He snorted, and if he'd been human, he'd shook his head because of man's stupidity. He still didn't understand how humans were the species at the top of the food change – if cats had been on top, oh, the humans would have cowered before cats' four feet!

But back to human idiocy.

How could that mean Temple brother not see the big shining female standing on the porch? She looked a bit blueish – was she sick? Mr. Pom-Pom was curious on this, but decided that he didn't want anything to do with her. Must've been something supernatural. Creatures of the night and all, cats see and hear things all the time, and stopped wondering a long time ago.

Yet... She turned to him now, her chocolate hair flying in the wind.  
>Waving at the cat, who looked horrified, she put a finger to her lips, intimidating a shh-sound. Mr. Pom-Pom soon returned to his senses and made a cat snort, not wondering about the mysterious of life. There was far too many other things for him to be concerned with.<p>

Without thinking more of this incident, Mr. Pom-Pom walked in the cat door, walking into Sam's room and lying down near his bed. _'__What __a__strange __world __we __live __in,__'_ he thought to himself before dozing off.

_._

_._

_Dango, dango, dango, dango_

__Dango, daikazoku _  
><em>[big dango family]<em>_

__Yancha na yaki dango_  
><em>[A mischievous dango]<em>_

__Yasashi an dango_  
><em>[A kind sweet bean dango]<em>_

__Minna, minna, awasete hyakunin kazoku_  
><em>[Wrap them all up and it's a family of hundred]<em>_

__Aka-chan dango ha itsumo shiwase no naka de_  
><em>[A baby dango is always cradled in happiness]<em>_

__Toshiyori dango ha me wo hosometeru_  
><em>[An old dango gazes with squinty eyes]<em>_

__Nakayoshi dango te no tsunagi ookina marui wa ne naruyo_  
><em>[The dango friends will all hold hands and form a big circle]<em>_

__Machi wo tsukuri dango boshi no ve minna de warai auyo_  
><em>[They'll found a village on a dango planet and all smile together.]<em>_

__Vsagi mo sora de te wo futte miteru dekkai otsuki-sama_  
><em>[The rabbits are waving their hands from the big moon]<em>_

__Ureshii koto kanashii koto mo, zenbu marumete_  
><em>[Roll up all, the happy and the sad things]<em>_


	29. Coffee

**Disclaimer:** The book is written by author Michael Grant, and owned by publishers, and thus it all belongs to them. This piece however, is mine.

**Rated:** T

**Beta: **DreamCatcher96

**Warning:** Mild violence, some curses, huge amounts of coffee

**Type: **Oneshot

**Genre: **Drama, hurt/comfort, friendship

**Pairing:** Previous canon, and Saiana... a kind of.

**Summary:** Post-PLAGUE. Of oddities, friendships, and a lot of good coffee.

**Words:** 5'101

**A/N: **Old fic.

Ten segments explaining the process of Sam and Diana's relationship inspired by **AkaVertigo**'s Zutara tales. Never done this pairing before - I've viewed them mostly as close friends. Not quite together in this one either though, just very very close.

"Comfortable silences" - yes I've been watching Tarantino movies again.

.

.

**Coffee**

.

.

She was the one for truths. Sarcastic perhaps, but no liar unless the circumstances forced her to - which was damn straight pretty often. But none the less, she was no liar; at least not to herself.

Therefore she made up a list of three major errors that she promised herself never to repeat ever again, be in this life or whatever that came after.

For starters, it was not smart to sleep with sociopathic megalomaniacs only able to care for themselves, no matter what promises they made.

Second, do not under any circumstances team up with evil green blubs of radioactive jelly, no matter what it says. In fact, kill it. Kill it with fire.

Third, do not doubt that Sam Temple - hero of The FAYZ and twin of said self-centered twat - was marvelous at making coffee.

Coffee.

Still, even in the midst of a catastrophe, children would be children and there weren't many who liked the black, bitter substance without drowning it in milk and sugar (something they lacked these days). This meant that there were loads and loads of preserved coffee beans at their disposal.

Thing was, after all she'd been through, coffee didn't taste that bad. It kept her thoughts fresh and her mind clear. She guessed that was why Sam had drunk so much and had now become a master coffee maker.

He always insisted that she'd drink with him. It was because he knew she enjoyed it. She'd seen the small, broken smiles he delivered when they quietly discussed something of minor importance, smiling only when he thought no one was looking. It helped him relieve stress, talking like that, about weather and oceans and fashion and music. Things that had no value after the FAYZ had erupted.

It wasn't that weird that she was the one though.

"Diana!" a voice called out, "You're supposed to be asleep."

She lived with him, after all. Their little white house outside town. It seemed to be the only place where she was, these days, having heard rumours about Caine trying to get her back. But Sam wouldn't have it. Stupid protector.

He sat down beside her, a little tense first in case she didn't want him there. But Diana said nothing, and he then leaned back in the couch. The couch in their shared kitchen slash living room.

There were a perfect ten centimeters between the two of them. Intentionally, since the two souls had no desire of interacting physically, not at the moment, nor on what seemed like an eternity. Sam was a horrible conversation starter anyway.

"Don't you just hate those?" Diana questioned out of a sudden, volume quiet, taking a sip from the standard hot drink.

"Hate what?" Sam answered her question with one of his own, turning over to her while blending the little sugar that was left into the black liquid in his cup.

"Those long, comfortable silences." Diana bent her head backwards and created a little 'crrr' noise as it loosened, groaning with the pain. Sam let out some grunt in response.

"We should go to bed."

Had Sam saved her, or had she saved herself? She liked to think that it was the latter. She'd been the one to run away from Fearless Leader, correct?

The bittersweet coffee reminded her of the bittersweet truth. Without Sam, she would have had no ground to stand on. That being said, this did not mean she experienced eternal gratitude. She was thankful, but she promptly refused her to get on her knees and thank him. She would show her gratitude in more sophisticated ways like allowing him certain privileges, such as listening to him once in a while.

"We should," Diana replied, unmoving.

That didn't mean she would always listen to him, however. That would spoil him rotten.

But Sam just smiled and stood up. "After you," he said.

.

.

Quiet. Alone. Full of sand.

He was all of it, and also at a beach. Not that it meant anything. Nothing ever did, it seemed.

The step he took was an instinctual reminder to wake up from his emotional slumber. To not continue the walk of the unknown territory in the land of thinking - shadows of our emotions, always darker, emptier and more complicated - and stay on the path. People think of thinking as simple. Plain. It is not. To think is like breathing - it is on all occurrences functioning - and one cannot stop breathing, even if one wants to. Even if one wants to block out all doubts and negative feelings one cannot.

Thinking is like a path in a land full of jungle. The jungle represents the unknown. When one keeps to the path, it is plain.

Sam was considering suicide, a kind of madness.

Madness. Sometimes he considered himself to have kept in touch with it - felt it running through his veins up to his head, strangling around mind like ebony vine-branches. It squeezed and applied pressure whenever he was thinking too hard or too much. It was the same madness that had driven him to burn the arm of a boy - Drake Merwin, a psychopath, but human still - but different, still.

He was in a jungle. A very thick one too, an ilk for a solid wall of dark green blocking his way to the path to the future. What did it hold? Death? Torture? Would he continue to be miserable until someone finally put a bullet through his head?

He stepped into the ocean, staring at the waves that came and went, almost never-changing. He missed surfing, he missed swimming, he missed being joyous in the water. Never thought he'd considering killing himself with something that had brought him so much happiness. Maybe he could drown himself with coffee as well. This inner emptiness had sucked his emotions dry, let them spill into the sand and vanish. His ankles were now under water as well, drenching his jeans.

"Temple."

Diana. Sam allowed himself a small smile. He turned around and stared at her.

"The coffee hasn't gone cold." She did not try stop him in every way, just stood there, face unreadable. The sand was cool against her feet but she did not shudder. "...for you, at least." Sam knew it wasn't the coffee she was talking about.

"I'll warm it up for you," Sam said with a sad smile.

She nodded, serious, and didn't wait for him to follow. It was a sign that her self-centered self had not completely let go after all the horrors she'd gone through; but also, undoubtedly, of trust. Never once did she turn back, knowing that he was right behind her. Because he was, too. "And when your coffee gets cold and you no longer want it, I'll warm it up for you too," he whispered.

.

.

Her tiny form stood at the balcony when he entered her bedchamber.

"I read somewhere about pregnant girls that had rubbed their thighs in with soap and other cleansing materials to remove the fetus."

He vanished within three seconds. During his sudden and unexpected disappearance, her fingers had locked around a place just above the elbow, scratching herself. Just to feel something. "Where were you?"

"I threw them out the window. The chemicals. Not like we need them anyway."

"Why?"

"'Cos it could hurt you. I'm not letting you get hurt. I promised."

"Oh Sam," she let out a short, barking laugh, mocking him, but unable to draw a negative reaction out of him, "there's a difference between getting hurt and wanting to get hurt."

"Is there? I don't see one."

"You don't want me to die."

"I won't_ let_ you die."

"I could get something sharp and cut my pulse vein. Or I could hang myself with my shirt."

"Then I'd hide anything sharp. Even if I had to look you up in a bathroom," he spoke, serious, though the dust of pink that covered his cheeks ruined the illusion of an adult, "without clothes on."

"I'd jump off this building."

"No. I won't let you."

"How?"

"I'll catch you. I'll catch you when you fall. Always. I promise." To prove the truth his rather odd statement, Sam walked forward, reaching out for her, dirty boy fingers stretched out to grab her's. He drew her towards him, as if they were pressed together in a Tango. But there was nothing remotely sexual about it, just a dance, a dance of life.

Her pristine white dress tied loosely with a red belt, flew like the crest at the end of the wave behind here, along with her hair. Sam knew it was cliché to think of her in that way, but could not bring himself to stop. She leaned her head to his chest, feeling his heartbeat, almost tasting his steadiness, how he was so incredible secure in his decision. He would catch her if she fell, no matter the height.

"Aren't promises, trust and hearts made to be broken?"

"I don't know. But we'll continue doing it anyway. Promising, trusting, l-loving."

"Why?"

"'Cos humanity is like that. No matter who you are, there is always this hidden desire to seek another person. Most humans are social individuals, the the thirst for knowledge."

"Do you trust me completely one hundred percent?"

Sam sucked in a breath, "No."

Diana didn't ask why. "Would you like to trust me?"

"Yes."

.

.

It was a bad idea. Hell, the whole concept was a bad idea.

Sam rose his hands into the air in a rather pitiful attempt on soothing down a raging despotism-adoring mob of snotty brats. Of the fake fluorescent light provided by the full moon Sam could only make our a minority of the raging kids' faces.

One of the boys was oblivious to his own prepubescent voice cracking and shrieking like someone rubbing metal and glass together. "Down with democracy! Down with democracy! Down with democracy!"

"There is no need for such violence," Sam tried, taking a hesitant step forward merely to be met with thirteen pairs of aggressive eyes glaring back at him, yet despite the tough attitude, they were shaking like old autumn leaves.

"No need my ass!" was the wise response from one of them. Sam got the impression that they were a small wannabe-group of King Caine supporters coming into the Lakies' territory to woe those here into their cause. Whatever their cause was, Sam didn't know if they themselves knew. "Yer' just tryin' to steal all da' food!" The seething shout was rewarded with a lot of "Yeah!" and "I agree!" from the rest of the livid group of unintelligent terrorist-midgets.

It wasn't before the moment that someone shoved a metal pitchfork through his left foot that Sam registered that they were all carrying semi-dangerous weapons. The scream that ripped itself from his lungs made the guilty one jump back in shock, her green eyes only widening to the extent or resembling soup plates when hot red poured from Sam's new wound.

_'There are nothing more terrifying than a gun in hands of a child,'_ Sam quoted in his head, gritting his teeth together as he noticed the crowd's almost concerned look, like they weren't the one that meant to violently stab him just now.

Anger was not just being indicated in their fraught little bodies, no, it was also taking a hold of Sam, like an evil ball of discomfort in the deepest pit of his stomach, feeling like it weighted half a ton. "I'm gonna count to three, and when I'm finished, ya'all should have dropped your weapons and vanished from The Lake."

"One..."

Many noticeably tensed. Some stood completely still as if they were frozen to an ice-statue. Others trembled. No one moved a centimeter further.

"...Two..."

Now their fingernails - no claws, monsters have always sharp fatal claws - were digging into the handles of their big knifes and other farmer-tools. But Sam, the fool, trusted them to make the right choice and didn't realize he was counting down to his own supposed demise.

"...Three."

It all happened in a blur. As if on command, the mob of ten raging kids from ages nine to fourteen ran towards him and fought him with all they got - kicking, screaming, punching and tearing in what they got. Someone went for the legs and made his foot's wound all the more worse. Sam tried in vain to shove them off without hurting anybody, but when they almost threw themselves on top of him in a reckless try to dominate the four-bar he could not hold himself longer.

Two bright lights shone in his hands, appearing and exploding as it connected with human bodies trying to press the oxygen out of the flame's master. It took two seconds and a heart-wrenching scream to wake people up and make them realize that them and comrades were on fire. Sam was still on the ground, bloodied and beaten, not capable of seeing madness erupt. Screaming kids ran like vile animals towards the lake, clothes and hair and skin on fire.

Sam produced some sort of sloppy grunt, spit and blood running down from his mouth. Closing it hurt. The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth and he became aware of his disorientated right arm when he moved it. His foot's wound had increased in size and now ran all the way up to right under his knee. The one who had cut him there had the obvious intention of adding a long-lasting scar to the collection on his body. His breath was ragged and hot blood pounded in his ears signalizing a new headache.

"God," he mumbled, shocked, as he dragged himself in the opposite direction of where the screaming came from, just vaguely aware of his surroundings. He shakily made it to his feet, halting, as he started walking the agonizing trip home.

"_God_."

.

.

He wouldn't speak when he met her.

But it was alright.

Diana didn't feel like asking where he'd been - dealing with his wounds was far more important. "Your getting blood all over the couch. But that's alright." Sam gave her a deadpanned look, wincing when she touched his hurt foot. He grit his teeth together when she cleansed it with hot water. It took time, but his wounds became disinfected after an hour or so.

He didn't wait a second to stand up, grabbing a broken umbrella with the fabric torn off as a cane.

"Where are you going?" Diana asked, making no move to stop him.

"To see the king," Sam replied bitterly as he limped out the door.

"And if you get attacked on your way there?"

Sam paused.

"Then tell Dekka you're her responsibility to keep safe."

.

.

Caine wore a long cape when they met.

It was pompous, and stupid, and cliché, but it was also done by Caine Soren, who was all that.

He'd built some sort of throne, or some sort of a large chair, watching out over the hall at his little castle.

Sam didn't give much of a greeting he walked forward, passing squinting bodyguards and ladies with crossed arms. Caine waved them all away, never saying a word although some guy leaned down and whispered something in his ear.

First when all had left, Sam spoke.

"Soren."

_'That isn't his name,'_ Sam reminded himself, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

If it bothered Caine, he didn't show it.

"Temple."

In another reality, in another universe, would they have been comrades? Friends? ...Family? If they'd had time to mend their broken relationship, found small similarities, had it all been different? If they'd gone to Coates together, or stayed with their mother together, would all those nights with monsters in closets and shouts from downstairs been any different?

Sam had to look down.

He could not think that way - because such opportunities were long since passed, and it _hurt_, it hurt how it could've been different.

Any difference from their bitter resentment for each other would've been better. Well, except death. Death was never a good thing, Sam had convinced himself, but he better now dwell too much on it. Last time he'd done it, Diana had to be the one to pull him out of it.

Caine had said something.

"What?"

The king's eyes narrowed. "I asked what you wanted, coming here on such an early morning."

Sam gave a short summary of what had happened.

"Ah, brother dear..." Caine chuckled humourlessly. "And here I thought you were busy protecting _her_."

Had she vanished from his broken heart? The answer was simpler than the harshness in the thing asked. No. No, she'd not.

He still remembered a beautiful goddess underneath the old mighty oak trees with Coates, shining in their orange pride. Diana fit the season autumn. Dark characteristics, cold attitude, often a hated being but a needed form in the endless circle of seasons, of pupils. Caine had admired her from the bottom of the hill, gazing up at what he desired to become his.

Desire—even from their very first meeting, he had felt it. Light as the touch of a butterfly and thickening like a grand room full of modeling clay.

And his own _twin_ had taken her from him, of all possible people.

"...Instead you're busy playing hero for a bunch of crazies."

Then, in the midst of it, Sam realized that Caine and him were über opposites. Yin and Yang. Water and fire. King and hero. Ambitious manipulator and freeloader surfer. However, although different, they were on the opposite sides of the same damned coin, as the common saying went. The two of them had still shared the same womb, and when they had goals, they would archive them. His "darling" twin-brother was better than him on some areas...

But Sam was still the one protecting the one Caine had failed to protect.

"She's alright, in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't."

Sam said nothing, just stared.

Caine sighed, leaning on his elbow on his throne. "She would've been a queen, ruled by my side, never depraved of anything she desired... Instead she runs off with the monarch who can't even rule. You're broken, brother, it's in your eyes. How can you protect someone when you can't even protect yourself?"

"Not my fault your supporters seem eager to overthrow any kind of stability we've built up in these last weeks."

"Hold your tongue, brother. Don't forget, I didn't want to see you again unless the matters were severe. Group of kids attacked, so what? I have bounty on neither your or... _anyone's_ head really - they're acting entirely after their own will. Perhaps you should listen and save yourself some tears and blood. Though seeing your various cuts and bruises - not hid well-enough, Sammy - you already charged headfirst to them. Idiot."

"You're lying."

"I'm no liar. I don't lie to anyone, myself included."

"Like hell. You're a sad and empty, longing for the girl's heart which you betrayed and broke. She doesn't' want you. Nobody wants you. You're pathetic." It was purely out of scorn, he said, "I can see why she left you."

There was a pause.

Penny stepped forth from behind the throne, fingers outstretched on both hands. One word from Caine and Sam would be a screaming mess on the ground. He'd heard all about it. He didn't approve, but he did fear it. He couldn't help shivering when she laid a secure hand on his shoulder.

Caine regained his smirk. "Oh darling brother, be careful whom you speak so venomously to. We're brothers by flesh, not by mind. And I'd have no qualm destroying it thoroughly if you hadn't been talented when it comes to survival. ...Don't listen to rumours, they're just fragments of the truth. Sure I've wanted her back sometimes, in my loneliest of hours, but I have _company_. I have a world to rule. I won't take her back unless she comes crawling on all fours."

Oh, how bitter. Like a soon-to-be husband left by the church's altar.

"Bringing up old things aren't going to change the present. Now, what do you propose I do about those kids? Have them hang in gallows?" Penny chuckled darkly at that, although she'd been miraculously silent the whole time. Rumours said she was kept as Caine's bed-warmer also.

"No!" Caine's smirk grew. "God, Soren, stop-"

"King Soren."

"Yeah whatever. Kingy, don't even joke about that." Sam sighed and could see Caine's mouth moving to ultimately deliver something as stupid as "I'm king so I can do whatever I want" so he spoke, "What I meant was nothing like that, you know it. I'm against torture and murder."_ 'That's why your former henchman went free until you finished the job.'_ "But can't you just... talk to them? Please? I don't want anybody hurt, not them, and not others because of them."

Caine sighed like Sam was proposing an unreasonable task. "Very well, I'll _talk_ to them."

Sam looked down, "Thank you."

Bored of the whole thing, Caine snapped his fingers. A servant appeared, dressed in neat close with a stoic face. "Bring Temple to the exit."

Just before he stepped out, Caine shouted, "Say hi to her from me."

And there was acceptance, oh so bitter acceptance.

.

.

There were no adjective in any languages' vocabulary on the planet named Earth to express the immense rage Sam experienced in the moment she told him of the younger girl's venomous words. The need to send someone to get slaughtered in a papercutter machine and stomp on the remains of the dead body had never been more mind-consuming than now. Morbid? Sam knew, but he didn't have it in him to care.

"She told you that huh?"

It hadn't been on purpose that she'd awoken such anger, it had been a mere comment - which had a connection to the topic - thrown out in the midst of the conversation. Diana was actually a tad stunned when she observed him go all crazed. "Yeah."

She was no damsel in the distress, she could handle other's opinions on her just fine on her own_ thank you very much for the support Sam_. She'd got knocked up at the age of fifteen and was ready to deal with the consequences.

"I'll talk to her 'bout it." Already about to storm out to preferably find and mentally beat the shit out of what he now considered a bully, Sam frowned as she took a hold of his shirt to refuse him.

"Sit down."

"Ladris I'm not letting anyone, not even Brianna, talk to you-"

"Oh sorry Temple, I didn't work myself good or slowly enough for you to understand. Let me try again; Sit down, shut up, and devour the remains of your drink." Endless sarcasm dripped from her disrespectful tone. He sat down, fuming, giving her a death glare that would have sent Drake Merwin screaming for his mother. Not quite that bad, though, but almost.

"Regardless of your meaning I'm gonna repay Brianna for tellin' you that."

"Oh? Whatcha gonna do Sam?

Sam paused for a moment, having forgotten his non-violent ways. "I'm trying to be nice!"

"I don't need you trying to be nice."

"And you don't 'need' me either, do you?" Hurt. He was hurt because of her previous bold statement, the harsh demeanor of speaking not clouding the bittersweet truth. "You could just go living with, I don't know, Edilio since you seem so nonchalant about who you spend your time with!"

"What do you want from me Temple?"

"Talk to me! Not going around pretending like I'm not there and it's all just fucking gumdrops and ice-cream! 'Cos I've seen you Diana! When that mask shatters and you look so... So lost. Like now. Like me. Just... Don't lock it in, yeah?" Diana stared at him. His chest was rising and falling, as if he was immediately out of breath. "Oh god I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... Y'know." Sam shifted uncomfortably, feeling guilty, "Didn't mean to dig in your personal life... That was incredibly rude of me."

"You're wondering why, aren't you?" Sam nodded. Diana tilted her head to the side, tone dry."Why I fucked Caine?"

"No-no not tha-"

"How fucking is like? Well you see the girls got a flower and the boys got an eel and the girl shouldn't open their flowers even if the eel has nice legs-"

"Ladris!"

Rage.

He had always considered rage to be in a bright red colour; perhaps even in a darker one, like crimson, because man's rags has often been one of the main reasons for bloodshed and despair.

He was wrong.

Rage was transparent. It had no official colour, and it did not cloud one's sight (there was no bonds of red silk drawn across his naïve eyes), it did only covered one's mind. That was, if one did allow it such a luxury.

He stared blankly in front of him. Not even when she called his name, he responded, just standing there, looking pissed. Diana said nothing more. Instead she disappeared into the kitchen.

He said nothing, when the sound of boiling water reached his ears, making his left nostril twitch up when he recognized a familiar and welcoming smell.

She said nothing when the standard "Piiing!" echoed through the kitchen and living room, thereafter strolling towards his broken form with their tea set.

He said nothing, even when she poured him a cup.

She said nothing, as she sat up beside him and handed him it.

He said nothing, as he soundlessly accepted it, stare focused on the warm brown liquid, making rings as he moved it up towards his lips.

She said nothing, as she did the exact same thing and their elbows touched with the action.

"It is not as good as when you do it," she stated. It was an observation, not an apology for her lack of ability to brew a decent can of coffee.

"It's okay," Sam said, still staring at his cup. His thin fingers was turning white, the cup shaking and adding even more circles appearing in his coffee. "It's okay."

And she, out of a sudden, became aware that it wasn't the coffee he was talking about. Thus, it was only logical in her broken mind stretch her tiny hands through the thick jungle, towards him, embracing both him and her inner ability to feel and experience.

And he said nothing.

Some sad situations just doesn't desire grand amounts of sophistication nor vulgarity. They just need small, quiet gestures, and responses - even if it is only disguised with silence - from both souls.

An action, no matter how odd, will forever say more than one thousand words. Diana kissed his cheek.

.

.

_"No secrets may be kept in such a small world." _

That was what he'd first told her.

Diana sat in the living room, motionless.

_"I won't take the responsibility of the life you're carrying."_

Why did she feel such sadness? She'd known it all along. He was no father, he was a boy, a boy with a paper crown and a toy kingdom. Children can't take care of children. The FAYZ had proved this countless times with dead babies and careless older siblings. She still remembered Sam's story on how

_"You're no longer mine. You're _his_."_

That had stung the most, because she was no property. Sure, she'd felt like it from time to time, but not in the FAYZ. At least not around Sam. Speak of the devil, Sam came in just then, sitting down beside her in the couch. He made sure to break no personal bubbles. "Came as fast as I could. I... I had no idea that he'd come today."

It wasn't before Sam took her in his arms that she started talking.

.

.

They were, at the moment, drinking coffee at the balcony.

Time passed. It doesn't heal all wounds, but it helps.

Sam watched her.

Girls. All they have to do is let it out, and five minutes later it's no telling what they've been through. They'd slept in the same bed that night, and they had been so close. Sam supposed that he should have felt attracted to her - she was beautiful - but instead of attraction, there was nothing but the strong bond of friendship.

"What?" she noticed him staring.

"It's nothing. Merely thinking." Sam took a sip from his coffee cup.

"Is it about your meeting with the king?"

"But Sammy. The queen has left the king to become a free princess. She doesn't desire kings, princes or monarchs, but a hero. And what a lonely princess considers to be a hero, is simple - a trustworthy friend."

.

.

.

He smiles. He is sitting at her bed, his feet wrinkling out the new done bed sheets but she does not have it in her to care.

"Sammy," she breathes, in awe, "It's one of those horrible comfortable silences again."

"Mhm..."

And suddenly Sam's heart's beating so fast he has serious troubles exhaling quick enough. Their all alone now. No one knows they're here. If Sam choose to hit her, no one would have known. If Sam had chosen to kiss her, no one would have known either. He bends forward, attempting the forbidden, the corner of his lips twitching slightly in instinctual reciprocation. She does not respond, just gazing at him, rather wary.

Then he bends even more forward, stretching out his neck to its full potential, but a far too fragile smile ghosts his features and calm blue eyes becomes half-lidded. Sam extends both arms out and wraps them around her, bringing her close to his body. She can hear his wild heartbeat reducing.

First, there is tenseness in the warm embrace. Then the emotional temperature gets right to her, slender fingers wrapping around her heart, and she returns the tight hug.

"I'll take care of you," Sam whispers. "I'll take care of you, and your baby. Won't let anyone hurt you. No matter what happens, I'll never leave you. You've become my... my dearest friend, Diana. I think that's more important than what any king can give." _  
><em>

"Thank you," she whispers, and her tears fall hard on the bed sheets, soon to be replaced by Sam's back as he clings to her tightly, and she clings right back. "Thank you so much."

Then, in the midst of it all, she thinks he smells much like coffee.


	30. Cross

**Disclaimer:** I feel like this becomes more and more unlikely with each smut scene I write.

**Rated:** MA

**Beta: **DreamCatcher96

**Warning:** Smut and curse words

**Type: **Request

**Genre: **Porn, angst

**Pairing:** Drastid. Yup. Serious.

**Summary:** Bringing Drake to her house was a bad idea, and so was letting him stay in her room. Twisted, intense feelings collide. Things happen.

**Words: **3'333 (not even kidding)

**A/N:** Out of a sudden I've received more reviews with both lovely compliments and needed CC. Fun to see the different opinions on my stories~! Thanks for leaving 'dem nice comments! (●´∀｀●)

Been very very very productive IRL lately, but my stories suffer... Buuut, thought I'd give in to some majorly requested "hot abuse Drastid smex" to make up for it Ψ(´▽｀)Ψ I'm not to fond of that pairing, but I won't aspire as an author by purely writing things I love, and I like making people happy :D

Don't be too mad if this porn plot sucks, is stupid, or doesn't make sense - being busy is ruining my brain xD I hope it's decent anyway.

.

.

**Cross**

.

.

_So this was it._

_Drake gurgled, blood welling up his throat, red then avalanching past his blue lips and down his chin, staining pale skin. His insides hurt. It felt as if thousand maggots were crawling around under his skin. _

_His master had discarded him for Soren's _supreme_ powers and in an act of treacherous envy he'd attacked the four-bar, which had ended rather badly - so badly that he was now cowering in the woods near the desert. Each crack of a branch or step of an animal made him flinch. This was humiliating and degrading._

_Drake gritted his teeth, making quite a grotesque view. _

_At least the Darkness could no longer reach him. He could still feel it searching for him though, like long silky maggots - the same that crawled underneath his skin - glittering in onyx calling for him, coaxing him into coming back. It failed though, because the scar running from Drake's left shoulder and down until his abdomen was an ever-reminding proof that those promises of forgiveness weren't true. _

_He'd come back, first, and hadn't even been within thirty meters of Coates when the tendrils had lashed out and nearly torn his mind open again, managing to slash open his chest at least, from the inside. After residing inside his mind for so long, the Gaiaphage's hold didn't loosen too easily._

_"Fuck you, m-master," Drake hissed in a stammer, leaning heavily against the trunk of the tree. The silence became maddening and shadows began to dance, and even if it was only in his twisted imagination, it still felt very, very real. _

_It wasn't until much later that he understood that one of the forms nearing him wasn't just a figment of his own imagination. The strands of his hair that blocked his vision gave a half-clear image of who was standing in front of him, but all he could see through his blurred vision was glittering gold. _

_Once he managed to sort it out enough for him to see that it was a blonde human of the female species, he could see that she had stopped up for a moment, right in front of him. But suddenly there were hands on his skin, and he hissed in pain, momentarily stunned by his lack of response. Wouldn't he normally have lashed out on anything that came within a certain radius of him? He was not losing himself to the pain!_

_So he did, his tentacle rising about half a meter... before falling down again. He breathed hard because of the physical strain. Drake was in no condition to move on his own. But the female did move backwards, making him more confident._

_"Stay away," he warned, gripping a branch as he dragged himself upwards. The fast movement made him want to hurl, but he couldn't do that. That would make him seem weak._

_And Drake was not, under any circumstances, weak._

_Too bad the stranger thought that. It wasn't until she held her hands up in surrender and spoke that he recognized her, "Relax. I won't hurt you."_

_"Ellison," he hissed, trying his best to stand up straight although his whole world was swinging. Dizziness took over and he leant against the tree again, but refused to acknowledge the concern in her ice blue eyes. "Don't... Don't fucking come closer, I'll end you!"_

_His voice broke at the end._

_"You're in pain, Merwin."_

_That was over the line. _

_"Do you think you're immortal now, 'cos Sammy's your boyfriend? Sammy isn't here right now, so I'd advice getting the fuck away before I kill you. 'Cos I _will_ kill you, Ellison." _

_He advanced at her._

_"Will I start with your face, perhaps?"_

_The whip lashed out, missing by centimetres. Astrid gritted her teeth together, throwing herself in yet another direction as it went after her again. _

_"Or how about your body, so that it will be a reminder for Sammy-boy of his failure to protect you every time he tries to touch you." _

_Despite the seriousness of the situation, it made her flush._

_"Oh? He haven't touched you yet? Figures, Sammy always were a little goody-two-shoe, wasn't he? Always putting others' wishes before his own like a cowardly bitch, yeah?"_

_As he stepped forward, he gave a slight flinch and twitch of his legs, like he struggled to stand. Astrid noticed. She wasn't supposed to, because Drake hid it well behind a grinning façade and evil eyes, but she did. _

_"You're hurt," she repeated, some strain in her voice. "Slashed up. If you don't get medical help soon, you'll die."_

_Drake stopped, looking as if someone had punched him. The shock somehow took over his entire brain, and then his legs gave in, and he plummeted to back to the ground. Mud splattered everywhere, including him, mixing in with the blood. Almost like a child throwing a tantrum, he hit it again with his fist._

_Blackness threatened to swallow him. _

_"Don't..." was his last word before it took over. _

_He was unaware of this, but Astrid stood over him for a few seconds. _

_She considered leaving him there. _

_He deserved it after all, and there was no future for him, a psychopath. But her own thoughts went against her, reminding her of the brother she had at home, which had proven to be even less than useless, with her belief of him creating this hellhole and all. She'd let him live._

_Astrid made her decision. _

_She started dragging Drake back to her house. _

.

.

This was how it all had begun.

It was a wonder no one had discovered him yet.

Drake lay in her bed now, his upper body well bandaged up to the neck. Luckily he could move on his own, saving him the humiliation of being helped to go to the toilet. He'd laid there for days, throwing nothing but insults at her when she attended his wounds and fed the miserable bastard.

It wasn't often Astrid felt the need to punch people. Now was one of those times.

And he just wouldn't let go the main reason why he wasn't dead, and twist it like it sounded it was a bad thing she'd brought him here.

"What if Sammy-boy saw you now, helping the guy who nearly killed him?" Never grateful. She wondered if he considered it beneath him to even give a nod in thanks when she helped him survive; maybe he thought that showing weakness was worse than death.

"...I bet he'd stare at you with those big blue eyes of his," Drake continued darkly, "begging you to have a better reason to keep me here. Does it give you some sort of twisted feeling of control, having me here? That's why you do it?"

"I do it because I don't want you to die, Merwin."

"Hah! Don't make me laugh, bitch." His voice became a dangerous growl after that. "Why would you bring me here without checking with Sammy? Is there something I should know? Did you break up? Did he cheat on you?"

She gritted her teeth together - she would survive this. She didn't know how or when it would end, but throwing him out was the same as throwing him to the coyotes. He'd be dead within minutes, probably by an angry mob of friends or family of his poor victims.

As impossible as it may seem she tried to pretend he wasn't there on most days, replacing her guilt with satisfaction - she was helping someone. Even if he didn't deserve it.

That reminded her of the horrors the boy on the bed had done.

Drake just leered once she held her head in his direction for more than two seconds.

"Don't try anything, Ellison. I wouldn't even touch you with a ten-feet pole."

Taken aback by the obvious sexual meaning behind his words, Astrid stepped backwards, back hitting the wall. He wasn't even standing, and yet she felt cornered. Her cheeks were set aflame by his comment.

Drake started cackling, and all she could make out from in-between the hysteria was the words "Fucking virgin" followed by some more cackles.

He had found a brand new way of torturing her, and he intended to use it fully.

It started with a few looks.

Then a few more inappropriate comments.

Worst was when he mentioned Sam, which he did quite a lot.

"He's seeing someone, isn't he?"

"No, he isn't," Astrid bit back. But an uncertainty she couldn't quite hold back sneaked into her voice, and the bastard heard. And he just _smirked_, a smirk that said he knew everything there was to know about her.

Drake made a mental note to talk about Temple more.

One day she snapped.

"Would you stop it?!" she hissed, marching up to him, planting a very firm finger on his chest.

Drake eyed it like it was plague-infested, then turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "What? Mocking you with your crush?" He moved his legs so he was sitting up, crossing his arms, but a pained look crossed his features for a millisecond. Astrid didn't know he had gotten that much better - he mostly stayed in bed when he wasn't emptying his bladder or practising to walk properly (or that was what she believed he did anyway when he was out of bed during the night, limping around).

"I'm in a relationship with Sam Temple," she hissed when she'd regained her voice.

"And it's halting pretty fuckin' bad, isn't it?" How could he know? Astrid's eyes widened. "You rarely visit him. He's away, isn't he? Seeing someone, perhaps? Was I correct with that seeing someone theory."

Her eyes widened.

_'No - no, I mustn't falter!'_

This was not the right time. She had her doubts, yes, and she was envious that he spent more time with the soldier gang than her, but it was selfish dammit, and she was not selfish!

"That's none of your business."

"Oh? I live in your house, Ellison. Y'know I can get away by myself now, I've been her for weeks. What are you waiting for? Pretending I'm ill, pretending you can help me if not only to have your mind on something else?"

Again, she flinched. He smirked.

Then she said something she shouldn't have.

"_Psychopath_."

Then of a sudden he was above her. Before she could turn away, his tentacle had curled around her arm. "Oh really now? I'm the mad one? I'm not the one hiding a _psychopath_," he spat the word; loathing it, "in my house, lusting after him when already in a _relationship_..."

"I don't l-_lust_ after you!"

"What is this then?" he asked, human hand touching the goose bumps on her arm she didn't know existed.

'_Jesus_.' Just what she needed, feeling attracted to a monster boy. Great. "I do not!" she said, but a little too late. "...Why would I even do such a thing? You're a freak and a _pest_. Only reason I keep you alive is 'cos of the goodness out of my heart! I don't deserve to be treated this way and you know it, Merwin!"

Drake didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. So with a great tug of his whip arm, he'd sent her sprawling on the bed. When she managed to get up on all fours, panicking, he was on top of her. Crushing her down again. "_'I keep you alive'_," he mimicked. "It's the other fucking way around, Ellison. You're living entirely on my mercy, don't you know?"

"N-No...!"

"I'll show you," he muttered. "I'll show you who's in charge here."

She inhaled sharply as he threw himself on top of her. His teeth dug into her skin, creating a sensation she had never before experienced. He kissed her, hard and fast, kissed her everywhere. His lips still roaming across her body, he tore her shirt open and she gasped, but that didn't stop him.

His skin was illuminated in bluish light from the fake moon. It came through the window along with a cool breeze, making her shiver. He was good-looking, and in a far more masculine way than Sam. Sam was cute; Drake had an almost animalistic beauty to him, one that many would find beneath average.

_'No!'_ her mind shouted at her,_ 'You shouldn't compare him to your boyfriend! They are nothing alike!'_

That maybe true at some point, but they were both monsters. Sam hated it; Drake embraced it. Both alike and yet so different. Was this why she could go through with this so easily? Why she could allow small moans to slip when Drake touched her, because he reminded her of Sam? Or was it because he was the furthest thing from her boyfriend?

Drake's thoughts was far more concentrated on her body and not her, and he stopped as he tasted metal.

Gaining an animalistic look, the one that made Astrid shiver so violently, Drake wondered whether it was blood. He drew away, making her breath hitch, only to look at a metal cross hanging there, right above her breasts. Ironic, how it hang over the place where men's sinful eyes often were drawn to, sometimes resulting in vicious sinning as well.

Not because he was mad, but because he felt like it, he tore the golden - as golden as her hair - necklace from her chest and threw it across the room. He licked away the salty tear that escaped the corner of her eye, and then continued kissing her. Dominating.

What followed were her pants - hurriedly torn off, Drake having no time to unbutton buttons or pull down zippers, merely tearing it apart if the pants didn't vanish fast enough.

His lips went further down along her collarbone and down to her breasts, round and nice in size. Psychopath or not, he could enjoy their form. His tongue slid over one of her nipples. It wasn't the _pleasure_ that he liked bringing to her, it was the shame.

She moaned loudly, clasping a hand around her mouth to keep it shut. Drake wouldn't let her hide it and tore it away, giving her a hard look. He wanted to hear her submissiveness, and _taste_ it.

"I should fucking sell you," Drake mumbled, smirking, "Could be your pimp. I'm sure prostitution would give me great benefits, especially over Sammy-boy, if he wanted a ride..." That made her gasp, and he took use of it, forcing her into another battle of a make out session. He was winning, again and again and again.

_Winning_ her.

Astrid wanted to cry.

She'd taken care of him out of the goodness in her heart, and this was his repayment?

"M-Monster," she muttered.

Drake smacked her across the head. "Do you want me to leave you like this, you a horny slut? Sammy sure won't finish the job if that what's yer thinking, 'cos he'll be dead within seconds if you dare drop out now. You started this game, Ellison. I intend to finish it. Do you _really_ want me to stop?"

It was with an embarrassed shake of her head she complied to his will, "N-No."

"Good girl," he muttered, tangling his hand in golden locks. With it, he went lower, starting to rub two fingers between her legs through the silkiness of her panties. "Feels, good, doesn't it? Yeah?"

Struggling with the tears, she nodded.

He rubbed hard, started to slip her underwear off, slowly, wanting to drag out the humiliation.

Still very uncomfortable in her own skin, Astrid flinched. It made him grin and continue. Whip wrapping around her leg, he drew it up, smirking. "This is gonna hurt," he informed her in an almost bored way, and then entered.

He was right, it did hurt. But she couldn't scream. If she did, someone might come, and the humiliation of someone finding her would be worse than the current pain.

"Bastard," she muttered.

"Watch it, Ellison," Drake warned, but continued to be amused, pressing himself even more into her.

Why did she allow him to do this?

Her thoughts became hysteric when the question popped up in her head - _'I didn't, he's violating me-!'_

Then why wasn't she fighting back?

It wasn't until later she heard that he had spoken. Drake was too lost in her, her inner walls putting up a good resistance, tight and hot around him. It felt good, driving himself to the edge like that. He didn't mind that it was her - the mental pain he knew she experienced pleasured him.

"...is it because you're seeking a thrill? Revenge? Doesn't Sammy look like you like he used to? Subconsciously, did you crave this, all this time, just waiting for me to do this?"

"I don't know," she cried out. "M-Move, for Christ's sake..."

Drake rolled his eyes. He did do as commanded though, telling himself it was only because he wanted to as well. He drew out, then slammed himself back in, manhandling her upper body.

Relatively inexperienced when it came to this, he learned all he could just in case he needed to do this again. He'd heard about girls who liked the bad boy image he guessed some believed he held. Would they like it when they willingly let him violate them until they were nothing but sticky, messy, bloody piles on the ground?

Some pitiful part of her mind tried to convince her this was all for Sam. To protect him from this monster, if not only for a little while. Keeping Drake busy. But as her own moans grew in volume, this became more and more unlikely with each rough thrust.

Astrid gritted her teeth, forgetting all about supposed relationships. It was only _him_ and _her_ in this chamber, with no one to disturb them. Thoughts and emotions all vanished behind a fog, hiding all her guilt and other trivial things.

"Tell me, what would your precious Sam say if he saw you like this?"

That made her shoulders stiffen even as he was pounding into her.

How dared he?

She wanted to tell him how much she hated him, but the words got stuck in her throat.

Instead she came shortly afterwards, crying as she did so. It held no particular meaning, and she certainly didn't say Drake's name, that would've been too embarrassing. Somehow, she expected satisfaction to arise, making her feel sick to her stomach, but still waiting.

What had triggered her jealousy, anyway? Hormones, probably. She'd read about it. But all literature in the world couldn't make her feel better now, lying there in her enemy's arms.

It took a few more thrusts before he climaxed as well, leaning on her as it rocked through him.

Astrid laid there, panting just as hard as him. She felt a ghastly numbness consume her, unaccustomed to the nasty stickiness between her legs. Drake slid off her, satisfied. He wasn't smirking though, having enough with catching his breath.

There were no murmured endearments, sweet kisses or promises of more.

"You're n-not welcome here anymore," Astrid stammered in a whisper, curling up.

Drake who was sitting beside there, froze. "You want me to fucking leave? What makes you think I'll do that?" He looked down at her, expecting shame, expecting _something_, and was rewarded with silence. She wouldn't cry with him there. He understood, and leered at her.

"_Fine_."

He was bitter, oh so bitter, but couldn't understand out why. He shouldn't be feeling pity for her. But it wasn't his fault that her performance was so lacking and pitiful - she'd barely done anything, just laid there and wept. The occasional moan or two were always accompanied by a sob, which made him feel oddly empty. ...Not forgetting so bitter that it was tangible.

Astrid was a proud one. It wasn't before he'd hurried out the door that she let the tears fall softly on the pillow.

And this was how it all ended.

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**A/N: **Not too happy with this (*´；ェ；`*) I hope it was alright though.


	31. Comrade

**Disclaimer: **Michael Grant is the official writer Gone™I'm simply stealin' his characters for my own sick amusement [insert evil laughter in background]

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **None

**Beta:** DreamCatcher96

**Type: **Unfinished story

**Genre:** Slice of life

**Pairings:** None, twincest if you squint hard

**Summary: **What if-Connie-had-kept-Caine AU. When the Temple twins moves to Perdido Beach, many challenges arise. Some of them are related to school or romance, but most with their crazy hyperactive step-father.

**Words:** 3549

**A/N:** OHSHC inspired.

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**Comrade**

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"_It takes a pair of TWINS LIKE US to crank that sort of thing up to the MAXIMUM DANGER LEVEL."_

-Kaoru Hitachiin, _Ouran High School Host Club_

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What seemed like eternal rain poured against the car window.

Darkness outside prevented anyone without night-vision to see the surroundings, irritating Sam Temple to no end. He'd never been too fond of rain in the first place, for reasons unbeknownst to him. Accompanying the darkness, a thick mist encircled the car and created an unwanted melancholy atmosphere, introducing a somber mood like in a graveyard.

The fact that Sam already had quite low spirits at the current moment wasn't helping the grim situation. They were moving halfway across the country to Perdido Beach to live in some house in the middle of the forest. And oh yes, spending time in a car with a hyperactive step-father, a snoring mother and a certain Temple who had decided that his older twin-brother functioned well as a pillow was _such_ a pleasant experience.

Though even if both twins loathed car-rides in general, it was easier to get trough their personal Hell sleeping. Sam wasn't allowed such an honour however, since he was given the important task of being a damn _pillow_, which was currently getting drool all over it.

"Are we there yet?" Caine mumbled into the pillow's (Sam's) lap, one arm thrown across Sam's waist as to make sure the older teen wouldn't dare move away from his position.

"No."

About a minute passed.

Caine then tugged at his restrained twin and gave him a sleepy look as he repeated the standard question that had been asked over a hundred times already.

"No," answered Sam again. Caine looked up.

"You _sure_?"

It was as if the two of them had a silent conversation as their gaze was directed solemnly at each other's.

Then the damn hyperactive step-father decided to break the slow and sleepy atmosphere.

"Ah yes my lovely sons, we shall soon arrive with the destination~!" he screamed out in pure bliss. Both Temples swore that it appeared small heart-formed dots floating in the air around his head. The brown-haired man then turned around in the front seat and gave Caine and Sam a very sexy blow kiss, which immediate response was two grimaces equal in disfavour.

"Keep your eyes on the fucking road!" Sam shouted as the car started to shake when they drove out from the white line in the cemented road. Caine buried his head in his brother's lap.

The hold tightened, and Caine felt the breakfast asking for allowance to return to this world. The request was politely declined, and Caine held a hand in front of his mouth to make sure that the response was taken seriously - that or digested food and bile would spray everywhere. Sam patted his head and gave him a look of pity, before continuing to glare at his step-father.

The car stopped out of the blue causing both twins to fly forward, but the seatbelts preventing them from flying out the front window. Caine was clutching his brother so hard that Sam struggled to receive enough oxygen, before the megalomaniac finally understood his brother's death and life problem and loosened the hold a little. Sam breathed hard for his precious air and thanked god his lungs hadn't exploded, but the rage he felt over nearly being choked to death was directed elsewhere as he glared daggers trough his step-father's skull. "What the f-"

"There shall be no such cursing vulgar language in my car!" the hyperactive forty-year-old shouted on top of his lungs. He would've appeared furious if it hadn't been for the pink hearts increasing in size and swirling around in a repeating circle whirling around his head. Caine was going crazy. "Understand?"

A new voice decided to meddle in the non-functioning scolding, "What did the brats do now?" It was Connie Temple's, shocking the people around her with her sudden interference. Her hair was all messed up after sitting in a car for so long and clothes all wrinkled in. It was obvious that the loud noises had woken up the tedious mother. Her facial expression was quite grim and the twins knew better then to challenge her authority when she was in _that _kind of mood.

Caine unburied his face from Sam's knees and gave his mother the most ignorant look ever.

"Can we stop with the nearest convenience store? I'm not feeling well." True to his quietly muttered words, he wasn't looking well either, green and all. Sam gave him a concerned typical older-brother look and ran his fingers trough the copper-coloured hair, almost out of habit.

"Yeah. You look kinda sick," his step-father admitted in a peeping voice after the infamous Glare Of Death™ the oldest twin had given him.

Sam snorted and gave his mother a pleading look, knowing that she'd melt as soon as he used the Bambi-technique his brother had taught him so many years ago. Only Sam's version worked on their mother best, because both knew that Sam was Connie's favourite. Caine appeared nonchalant about the matter, even though Sam still knew he mourned over the fact that his mother liked the oldest twin better then himself. Luckily the frustration was turned to Connie and not Sam.

"He'll manage," she said after a moment of hesitation. She then turned to her husband and gave him an annoyed look, "Why aren't you starting the-" the sentence was never finished as the Caine slammed the car-door open and ran a few meters away from the car before he threw up, just managing to stick his head over a fence before the breakfast said hello and goodbye. Thankfully, he sound was drowned out by rain pouring against the asphalt outside.

It didn't take half a second before Sam had swooped himself over at the other side of the silky backseat and jumped out the same door as Caine had previously, walking against his twin's crumbling position with pity on his features.

"Hey. If you're gonna stay out here all night you're gonna get sick," Sam warned in the typical I'm-older-therefore-I-know-better tone though the undertone was quite playful. He patted Caine lightly on the back, guiding them towards the car.

Sam sighed as the younger teen wiped the remains of his accident away with his shirt's arm, and sat back in the seat while he threw a dark look at his mom and lay down again - on his personal pillow.

Connie cleared her throat, "We'll stop at the nearest convenience store."

Sam continued patting his brother's head in a calming manner and both wore a pleased smirk once darkness started ebbing into their visions at the exact same time. Sam leaned on the car-door in the place he shared in the backseat with his brother, and Caine leaned on the auburn-haired teen without a second of hesitation. The smirk widened once he noticed Sam's breath becoming steadier. Trust that lay so deep within the very core of their soul shone trough like light shines tough glass.

They were born together. So they'd always be together. Die together, even. That was the logic that both lived with without doubting its truth, knowing that their fate was sealed with each other like an invisible chain.

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The automatic doors swung open and Caine almost bumped into the sides as he hurried inside and ran for the nearest bathroom. Sam had to stifle some chuckles when he noticed his brother almost crashing into the convenience store's personnel but quickly apologized on his twin's behalf when the petite woman behind the desk gave him a funny look.

She smiled at Sam, "Can I help ya with somethin' other then th' a bathroom visit?"

The auburn-haired teen's face lit up with the question and he grabbed a pair of chocolate plates that seemed of his taste. He briefly wondered if Caine would like some too and grabbed two more additional to what he was already having. Sam looked around in the store for a moment. It wasn't anything special about it, a mere five meters distance from wall to wall – a true 5x5 box-like building – with a desk in a corner where the woman stood.

Sam's gaze tore away from the chocolate bars as a yellow light shone up the whole store and caused a few light bulbs to explode, glass shattering all over the ground. Sam fell to the ground and held his hands on sheer instinct above his head to prevent any damage. He blinked twice before a loud BOOM followed and Sam swore that the ground shook.

He looked up only to see that the small woman working here had done the same thing as him. Her blonde head popped up behind the desk being quite the commercial sight, but Sam stifled his laugh with a loud coughing. "Horrific weather, ain't it?" she asked. "Tch. Betcha your brother pissed his pants out there, all alone."

Sam got the message and lost the chocolate plates to the floor. He missed the 'Caution – wet floor' sign and managed to slip along the ground.

"Hey Sam did you-" Caine hadn't time to finish the sentence as Sam crashed into him sending them both howling backwards.

"AAAAAAARGH-"

**BOOM.**

Sam was lucky since he managed to land on top of his twin after the two of them crashed into a nearby wall and therefore the one under him took all the damage. It was left unsaid that Caine was the one left suffering in this situation.

"Ugh..."

"Sam, could you be an angel and get the fuck off?" Caine asked, annoyance evident in his voice.

"Working on the case here." Sam rolled off on the side and breathed hard. He ran a hand trough his hair, which had turned greasy because his lack of showers the past week. Thoughts raced trough his mind as he directed his gaze at the other teen whose current position was also sprawled out on the ground right beside him. The small hallway that lead to the hallway was so small that they had to lie a few centimetres from each other to fit. Memories from when they used to share bed back at the old house came in flashbacks and infiltrated his mind. "Hey." Sam turned around so that he was staring directly at his brother.

"What do you really think of the fact that we moved?" Sam asked out of the sudden. He chewed on his under lip as he asked, pondering about his own answer.

Caine didn't seem the least bit of taken aback with the question, instead the recognizable atmosphere of coolness came over him. "Well it wasn't exactly on my wish list for Christmas.. But I guess since mom had such a lousy job it's better to leave. Anything to get away from that rat-hole of a house we lived in, eh? Perhaps we'll even get separate bedrooms this time." Caine chewed on his thumb.

"You say it as if it's a bad thing. Sharing bed, I mean."

"Well well, we're turning fifteen. It's not considered normal to share bed _or _shower _or_ share every-fucking-thing you feel with your twin-brother. Especially when you're past the age of six." Caine sniggered a little, "But that never stopped us before eh? But you have to admit we received quite the funny looks when people discovered our dirty little secret."

"Dirty?" Sam snorted. "You sound like we're sleeping together."

"We are."

"Not that way, I mean like... _you know._"

Caine frowned before it hit him what his twin met. A sly grin stretched across his face and split his face in half. "Ah you perverted brother of mine. You're turning as bad as those weird fangirls that we encountered at school." Both shuddered with the unpleasant memory.

At some point during their time at their old school some weird fangirls had come up to them and started questioned their sleeping habits and such. It had soon gotten out that they shared bed – even though both blamed their family's bad economy – and then all the girls had went bat-shit insane and was thereafter convinced that the Temple twins had a secret romance in a forbidden, sexual relationship.

The fact that Sam had come out of the closet for about two years ago didn't reduce the rumours. Sam had never been really secretive about it anyway; he liked guys, so what? It wasn't like all homosexuals ran around raping children. Though the attention he got from females who intended to rid the world of homophobia by throwing rainbows and pink ponies in every general direction and really wasn't helping the situation. Caine was straight, or so he thought anyway since he hadn't felt anything for another guy before. Except his twin. But that bond between them couldn't count as romantic.

"I hope there no such girls at the new school."

"I agree with my whole heart, Caine."

They shuddered with the memory of fangirls chasing after them and returned back to reality. "But seriously, you still wanna share bed?" Caine asked with a raised eyebrow. "I mean, I won't mind but if people start finding out... Even though fifty percent of the last school were freaks doesn't mean that this is gonna be one of those."

"So you're not confident that you'll take advantage of every single on of the girls and boys at the new school and be like some sort of king again?" Sam couldn't help but rub it in. His brother had a natural sense of leadership and he'd had the former school at his command from his little speech at the parents' evening in sixth-grade primarily school. "You and your god complex."

"Why would I ever do such a thing?" Caine faked the shock in his voice and a playful smirk danced on his features.

"If the King doesn't mind be sharing my thoughts, I'd like to say that Your Majesty is fucking good at controlling people, pardon my language," Sam drawled.

His twin's smirk widen as he stretched his arms upwards and moaned.

A voice disturbed their conversation. "If you boys ain't too busy havin' a lovey dovey conversation on the floor I'd suggest ya all get up," the petite woman from behind the desk called.

"Let's go," Sam said, helping Caine up.

Too bad Caine's balance sucked because unlike Sam, he was no surfer and the effect of sitting inside a car for hours and hours didn't help. So when he stood, he slipped, and the two of them crashed to the floor once again.

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It was a beautiful morning, blue sky with not a cloud and sight and the special silence only nature could provide-

"WE'RE HERE! Let's join singing a song to greet the bushes and the bees and flowers and birds that welcomes us in their silent embrace~"

...Well it *had* been a nice morning anyway...

The insane (or hyperactive, but Caine preferred the term insane) step-father began singing, his bald skull twinkling in the strong sunlight. Those small heart had transformed into shaking stars.

"Shut up you fucking psycho!" Caine ordered. He was supporting himself on Sam, one arm over his shoulder and lying his own full body weight to the oldest twin-brother to carry. He didn't look particular dominant with his green face, the colour because his car-sickness. His step-father agreed with that conclusion, because he ran over to the sick Temple and started hugging both of them.

"My poor sick baby! We shall soon find some painkillers-"

"Stop squeezing his stomach!" Sam warned quickly, snarling as he tried to peal his step-father's arm away from his green twin, "He's-"

Caine, who was in the middle of a tug-of-war, groaned in pain and clutched his stomach in pain, "Gonna throw up," he finished for his brother.

That caused the insane man to let go within a second, running down a hill and shrieking something about "EXPLOSION! RUN, SAVE YOURSELF!" and afterwards tripping in his own feet and rolling down the hill like big, fat, Canadian snowball.

Caine was still hanging like a lifeless rag-doll in Sam's arms. "Tch. Noisy bastard. Deserved that," he murmured with eyes closed. A scowl had manifested on his features.

Both Temples were standing on a hill, gazing down on the petite city of Perdido Beach. Neither found it particularly exciting to move like this, a little sucky town because their step-father had gotten a job on the local powerplant. The car was parked outside the house they were going to live in from now. "Unimpressive," Caine continued with his small comments and Sam didn't refuse him.

An angry woman voice disagreed fully on that though. "Be glad we live in something more than a trashcan and that Jones allows us to live with him!" Connie hissed at her youngest son, and got nothing but an angry grimace in response. She muttered something like "Ungrateful brat" in return but the stern look from Sam silenced the insult from continuing and rising in volume.

"Caine, stop being a burden for your brother and do something useful for a change. Unpack!" Connie showed her point by starting to carry two large boxes stabled on top of each other into the house.

When she'd disappeared into the little red house, Caine glared after her and slipped off Sam's shoulders—who had been thoughtfully silent the whole time. "Bitch. Always choosing favorites Even when we were little." The tone was as bitter as vinegar and wasn't to be mistaken off and Sam turned around and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, even if he was aware of that the bitterness wasn't directed on him.

"Hey. Let's just unpack, OK?" the auburn-haired teen asked quietly. The green grass underneath their feet tickled their bare feet and the two twins shared a moment of comfortable silence. Sam gazed at the view they had and looked down at the town. Their house was blood-red with white window frames and doors, a small balcony on the second floor. Just average, and it looked just like the booklet their mother had showed them on the Internet. The house laid in a forest, on a hill actually right over Perdido Beach, looking like the house from-

"It's like that house from 'The house on the Hill'," Caine commented dryly, mirroring Sam's thoughts perfectly. He didn't share this though, merely nodded in silent response.

"MY SONS!" a screaming voice came from behind them. "I have returned from my... Um... 'forest walk' and-"

"Forest walk my ass, you fell-" Caine didn't finish before a hand clasped around his potty mouth without the crazed man as much as raised an eyebrow.

"He's always so grumpy in the morning isn't he?" Jones whispered to Sam in question of agreement and got a mere shrug in response. Though the grin that stretched across his face as he saw Caine's muffled noises and The Glare Of Doom[tm] at his older brother for 'betraying him'.

"Anyway, LET'S UNPACK." How the unintelligent man managed to make it sound like a wild outer-space adventure was beyond Caine. He gave a little irritated sound before sighing and accepting his fate.

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The walls were grey, wooden floor, room formed like a box, two large windows with Venetian binds in deep maroon that had already been installed, blocking the light. Two beds in each corner of the room and matching bureaus.

"I liked the old place," Sam muttered quietly.

"I liked the old place too, but it'll be cool with some changes!" Caine said in an overly-sweet tone. Sam knew him good enough to know that his older twin was up to something, most likely to get praise.

Caine had been correct to utter those words though, because in the same second as the sentence had rolled off his talented tongue a bald head stuck into their room. "That's more like it Caine! You see Sam, /someone/ can actually be a little optimist! You should be more like your brother!"

Sam looked deadpanned. "No thank you. It's his job to be the so-called perfect, sly bastard-twin. I'll be more than happy to watch from the sideline."

"Sam, you hurt my feelings!" Caine fake pouted, making sure to keep an eye on his step-father's reaction.

And a reaction he gave. "Sam! Your brother just trying be optimistic! Give him some credit!" his step-father ordered.

"Thank you~!" Caine continued in the same tone. His ego was as big as the sun. The metaphor fit well since he did consider himself to be the center of this universe, thus providing warmth and joy to those around him. However, what he blindly believed and what was the naked truth was two completely different things.

"Sam! Stop being so sour and LET'S UNITE IN A HUG OF FRIENDSHIIIIP-"

Their step-father's leap through the air was stopped by Sam smashed his fist across the madman's face. It sent him flying for the second time that day.

The sociopathic Temple twin put his hands near his mouth, forming an 'o', and shouted rather boldly, "Find a good place to hide the body!"

A muffled cursing was the reward to his seemingly endless teasing. Oh, how fun it wad teasing Sam! The guy was as dry as sand and needed *someone* to kick his sorry ass into the wild side of life. Being a saving angel for his pathetic failure of a brother, Caine filled in this position perfectly.


	32. A SADISTIC DRAKE MERWIN LOVE STORY

**Disclaimer:** Gone™ belongs to its publishers HarperCollins (and none of us here on FanFiction thank god) among others and is written by author Michael Grant. I am still broke, still teenaged and still making no damn profit from this, nor from any of the songs that will be listed. Borrowing some lines from other shows/comedians/fanfics/abridged series etc. but all material belongs to its respective owners; I am merely borrowing them for entertainment purposes only.

**Rating: **T

**Warning: **Death, angst, language

**Beta: **DreamCatcher96

**Type: **Oneshot

**Genre:** Family, drama, hurt/comfort

**Pairing:** Former Caina

**Summary:** Sarah Helldaughter has powers so great no one could have ever imagined, and thus every male in the Gone universe will run after her like rabies-infested dogs. Especially Drake Merwin.

**Word count:** 8'557

**A/N: **Originally posted 11-13-11, but discontinued it after two chapters. Received a lot of reviews, meh.

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**A SADISTIC DRAKE MERWIN LOVE STORY**

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Caine buried his head in his hands, leaning on his elbows on his office table. The chair he sat on made a squeaking noise as he sunk down like a useless puppy in it, with a expression full of hopelessness, distress and utter despair on his face. Dark-blueish circles decorated the areas under his exhausted eyes, and his actual gaze was heavier than anyone had ever seen it before, heavy with madness, proving that the matter that kept him in such a twisted state had stolen his beauty-sleep along with his sheer willpower _and _reason to live.

There was a few hesitant knocks on the door to what he had so fondly called "the king's office", though Caine no longer particularly felt fond of anything anymore.

He opened the door with his powers, muttering a blasé "Come in"; tone as dead as his eyes. He didn't bother to look up from the small glowing screen in front of him when Sam entered the small room, the white light making Caine's skin appear even more sickly-pale than it already was. His cheekbones were sunken in as well, giving him an appearance much like a ghost's.

"Oi~!" Sam walked over to Caine, obviously having been called since no one else dared to enter the tyrant's room when he was in such a weird mood.

Sam, being the only one who really gave a crap about him – even if Caine had tried murdering him on several occasions – bent over the desk with a worried facial expression. Wearing a pair of well-used jeans, a black sweater, and his dark-brown hair rather messy, he didn't look dressed for a battle. Sam's tone was rather quiet as he spoke, believing that the tiniest noise would cause Caine to finally snap completely.

"Your minions have told me that you've been feeling unwell the last couple of days. Is it somethin' I can help-"

Caine cut him off mid-sentence, lips pressed harshly into a thin line, and he was now staring blankly in front of him as if a real ghost had taken over his body, "Y'know that Computer Jack managed to get the internet up for a short amount of time, yes? And that I, being king and all, was the first one allowed testing it properly?"

"Yeah..." Sam looked uncertain. "And that you refused anyone else to try it after you, and after that hysterically screaming at Jack how dangerous it was for the public's health...?" It was hard to keep secrets in the damned FAYZ, especially with a little wretched witch like Taylor adoring to spread rumours around, the gossip turning the things worse than it originally had been.

Caine's sleek fingers started working on the keyboard, running over it with sleek motions, the sounds it produced echoed around in the empty room. Something told Sam that Caine had actually slept here as well, if he'd gotten any sleep at all. Was he turning into an insomniac or something? If so, what could be the reason for him, one of the strongest personalises in their new world, to scatter so completely?

Taking in a ragged exhale, Caine's left eye started to twitch as if he'd finally gone mad. He sucked in a breath in an attempt to calm himself down and regain his cool. It was harder than he'd first imagined, thus several silent minutes passed before he'd collected himself enough to speak properly again, Sam being careful not to interrupt.

"Do you consider yourself brave, brother of mine?" he suddenly asked after the quick and almost mindless typing had stopped.

Sam looked even more uncertain with the bizarre questioning. "I... I guess so." He had gone out all alone to save the town from thirst, fought both Drake and Caine, and sacrificed himself countless times; so couldn't he take the pleasure of calling himself brave? At least only for now, face to face with this despotic leader that also happened to be his very own long-lost twin-brother?

"Yes... I mean, yes, I do consider myself brave," he confessed, yet even if his words were arrogant, his whole standing up position and body language were oddly humble.

"Then come here." Caine reached out and tugged at the arm of Sam's black sweater, forcing him with a mix of human strength and supernatural powers to stand beside him with his face turned towards the computer.

"W-Whatcha want to show me?" Sam stammered, a little afraid that his brother would throw him out the window or something. Caine's left-eye-twitching had started again, looking like it wouldn't decease for a long while.

"What I will show you now will scar you mentally. Make you scream, make you cry, make you lose the will to live and most importantly make you feel like your personality was raped, again and again until you were nothing but a sobbing mess on the ground, abandoned by your precious loved ones. It feels like dirt staining your flesh but it is impossible to get off with any sort of liquid, like if you were ill inside, but unable to vomit it all up."

Another deep breath was taken, Caine filling his lungs with oxygen until there was no more room. Then he blinked, and typed in something in the crowbar.

'_Fanfiction?__ What__'__s __that?__'_ Sam frowned.

"What I will show you are..."

Inserting a dramatic pause, Caine clicked on a link, too fast for Sam to read, but a whole lot of text suddenly appeared on the screen. Coughing as if ashes of innocent children had gotten stuck in his throat, the self-proclaimed king turned away and Sam had to harshly pat him on the back.

Midnight-blue met deep hazel for a moment and the two had a nonverbal conversation, where no words were needed, of the utterly terrible things Caine was about to show him.

"...Mary Sues..."

In that exact moment, an adorable puppy died somewhere.

And it was not by the hands of Drake Merwin.

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**Warning:** THIS IS A PARODY. SAY IT WITH ME: P-A-R-O-D-Y.

IF YOU ARE ONE OF THOSE EASILY OFFENDED (ONE OF THOSE WHO CAN'T HANDLE CRITICISM IN GENERAL) OR EMOTIONALLY SHALLOW PEOPLE I SUGGEST PRESSING THE X-BUTTON IN THE CORNER OF THE SCREEN AND NOT EVER READ THIS STORY. _PLEASE_. IT WILL SAVE YOU FROM THE BRITISH STEREOTYPE STIFF UPPER-LIP.

THIS PARODY INCLUDES BASHING TOWARDS MARY SUES AND SUE-WRITERS IN GENERAL BUT REFERS TO NO AUTHORS PERSONALLY. NO NAMES ARE MENTIONED AT ALL, THUS MAKING YOU UNABLE TO REPORT ME FOR THAT CRAP. YES THERE WILL BE BASHING. A LOT OF UNEMBARRASSED BASHING AND SARCASM. WILL ALSO INCLUDE OFFENSIVE LANGUAGE SO IF YOU DON'T LIKE DON'T READ.

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**Disclaimer**: lol I don't own Gone Michael Grant does and he's like the most amazing author ever but if I owned Gone I would make everybody love Drake and Caine would not dump Diana because he was so out of character and dumb since he left her and didn't stay and made more Caina babies with Diana because that would be awesome and Drake would be like an uncle instead of Sam because Sam is so stupid too – he only thinks about sex and gets drunk all the time and he's so self-centred and stuff even if he kinda saved Perdido Beach like thousand times he is still a sexist. (Ignore unintentional good grammar there at the end.)

**A/N**: My name is**123DrakeisSexyoxox123** and THIS IS MY FIRST STORY but I fully expect everybody to review and sing my praises because I'm so awesome lol. So I thought that poor Drake has no girlfriend and thus he must be miserable! And then I thought why can't I make up an OC of my own? I swear she's not a Mary Sue! And Drake will love and treasure her because he is not as bad as everybody thinks and in the end the readers will grow a migraine because of the over-used fluff and the sickly OOCness by Drake :-) LOL

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**A SADISTIC DRAKE MERWIN LOVE STORY**

**Chapter 01: **

**The Blonde Hottie  
><strong>

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A main character was standing outside of wide stone building of the infamous Coates Academy, alone after stepping out of a random taxi.

"Omg," she began, almost oozing like a freshly-served beef, merely with an extreme amount of boredom instead of smoke, "I am like, _so_ sadistic."

Ah. Yeah. Forgot to mention, she is like, über sadistic. She'd murdered ducks with spoons, refused to help old grandmas over roads and (dun dun DUN) killed a person once. With a lamp. It had been totally unintentional but kind of intentional at the same time since he had been a really bad man and the author having a lot of hatred towards those of the opposite sex because IRL boys haven't treated her with "the respect she needs" and holy fuck where did those important commas go.

It was her parents who sent her here. Her horrible, horrible parents who denied her the right to sit on the computer in eight hours straight, downright begging her to at least _try_ to increase her almost non-existent social life.

Not to mention that she was horribly abused by her uncle Bob who repeatedly hit her with a stick when she tried to light Aunt Ana on fire. Her soul is scattered around like pieces of a mirror blah blah blah most used angst metaphor in history blah blah blah. This is meant to have the readers sympathize with the OC, but makes those with a brain vomit because of all the useless depression.

[_"__Oh__ woe, __oh __angst, __yeah__ it__'__s __piled__ on __thick__ – __and __most __of__ the__ readers __are __gonna __be __sick!__"_  
>–A Mary Sue Poem by <strong>Irony-Chan<strong>]

That was the genius back-story of why she was sent to the dreadful Coates Academy.

Because y'know, teenage wannabe-murders with clear psychopathic issues gets sent to expensive boarding schools instead of an insanity asylum for the mentally deranged under eighteen, so that they can get help from experienced psychotherapists helping them through their problems. Reason for this is unexplained, but we should all blame the horrible parents – I mean who let their kids drive in a taxi to school! Honestly! At least use a limousine or something, Jesus!

So it has an explanation why she is so bad sometimes.

To make up for the one that writes this lack of good looks, she needs to be average on the outside. Very, _very_ average. Perhaps a tiny bit unnatural just to draw attention to herself, like multi-coloured eyes or something ultra cliché like that. The important thing is that her eyes sparkling like Edward Cullen's bare ass on a sunny day. If the author is going for the totally average look, the OC's eyes- and hair-colour are often the same as the author's unless she wants to go mad and make her have white/pink/banana-coloured hair or something wannabe-goth like. But most often, it's the standard brown-eyed brunette wearing glasses and oh so holy _average._

She reached out her hands, studying them. She had a big secret, namely her highly awesome superpower that she had noticed over the few passing months but because of trust issues had not given herself in to some scientific research lab or something. But perhaps, if there was a boy out there somewhere, that accepted her for who she was with power or not then perhaps, she would tell him.

Finishing her odd dwellings, she smiled like Lindsey Lohan discovering that she was going to court again, "Well I am sure this will never come back to haunt me!"

**EPIC FORESHADOWING. **

The name of this highly awesome person was...

Was...

Was...

*readers waiting in excitement*

Sarah Helldaughter.

_Sarah._ Of all the fucking names the author could have chosen, she searched for one of the most common names ever and named her 5286872465-bar Sue _that_. Probably because anything a bit creative would be too hard on the speaker. And Helldaugher? Get it? Because she's the daughter- Okay it is pretty lame. Can Hell even have a daughter? Hell is a place, and places don't have reproductive organs.

...Normally, there would be some more shit about her but I doubt some readers even read the first chapter, so let's go straight into action.

Suddenly a random girl fell from the sky.

"AaaaaaAAAAAAAAH!"

Diana Ladris had jumped off the building and landed right into Sarah's arms.

She looked pissed. "Well there goes that suicide attempt."

Blinking for a couple moments, Sarah still stoic without an inch of emotions because of her endless inner turmoil and so-called sadist attitude built up inside, Diana continued like nothing had happened. "Hey! I am a major bitch and some fans abhor me 'cos I remind them too much of the blonde bimbo gang at their schools who always hangs out with the male bullies or they're envying a fictional characters for being with two "hot" psychos, so I dunno if you, an [insert some insult low on creativeness] OC, will hate me or suddenly crave to become BFF with me. Sometimes the author reconsiders in the middle of the fanfic."

The muscles under Diana's left eye started to twitch violently.

Sarah thought hard. It almost hurt a little – usually she used all her brain power to pity herself because of the extreme emotional turmoil she went through daily when recalling the horrible memories of her uncle abusing her and stealing her Barbie-dolls when she was eight- okay we get it already.

...Diana looked quite nice (but Sarah was not a lesbian!) with her tight-sitting school uniform (but Sarah was not a lesbian!), short shirt (but Sarah was not a lesbian!) and nice amount of makeup without it being too much since the author doesn't know how to describe that (but Sarah was not a lesbian!) since her parents won't allow the author to wear makeup just yet (but Sarah was not a lesbian!)

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[**Atchair:** Oh for fuck's sake saying that another female is hot does not make you a lesbian. Kissing another female does not make you a lesbian. Having sex with another female does not mean you're a lesbian. Falling in love with another female makes you a lesbian. So stfu about the whole thing.

**123DrakeisSexyoxox123:** o.O Who are you?

**Atchair**: I'm the sarcastic person commenting on your story and alerting the sentences to make you seem like an idiot for my own – and other's – sick amusement. Though you mostly manage it without my help.

**123DrakeisSexyoxox123**: You're mean :(

**Atchair:** You have friggin homophobic tendencies.

**123DrakeisSexyoxox123**: Don't curse! My parents will get so mad!

**Atchair:** I don't really care. Betcha you can't even curse. You're like twelve.

**123DrakeisSexyoxox123:** Can so! You b****!

**Atchair:** Charming. I find it humorous how you have to star out every damn curse word. Frightened to say a bad word or something? It's nothing like saying the word will offend anybody, unless it is considered discriminating like such deranged insults like "fag" or "nigger", which shouldn't be said out loud because it hurts people.

**123DrakeisSexyoxox123**: You're a dumbass!

**Atchair:** Merely sharing an opinion, luv. Now, let's go back to the miserable fanfic.]

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Sarah blinked, brought out of her dreaming of killing helpless puppies. But she was still emotionless on the outside, except looking like a serial killer. Not that the author knows what a serial killer looks like, nor has she read _The __Professional __Serial __Killer __and __Career__of __Ted __Bundy_.

"Why did you fall from the roof?"

"Well," Diana explained in a very un-bitchy tone, probably owing to her unlimited OOCness, "usually in fanfics like this I just randomly walk past the main-character after about three-hundred words of unimportant shit since I have obviously nothing better to do with my life than walking around on my school's parking lot all day waiting for random new students to come by." She gave a nonchalant shrug. "Today I wanted to try something remotely different."

"So you jumped off the roof."

"Yup."

"Seems legit."

The two of them discussed the wonders of life and then became best friends forever with Diana somehow not managing to shake Sarah's hand. That would have been a sign on weakness, to let another human being know her big secret. Her power... Her extreme power...

(Obviously author has not yet figured what her power's gonna be)

Diana guided Sarah into the actual building. Normally, Atchair would have adored to describe the surroundings in such an old magestetic school such as Coates that lacks description in the actual books with leaves it up to her imagination, but we all know DrakeisSexyoxox123 is intensely focused on meeting with you-know-who (not Voldemort but someone much sexier).

There they met a bitch a receptionist. Her hot pink plastic nails shone from the half-broken light-bulb swinging in the ceiling. "Who're you?" she asked.

"Sarah Helldaughter," Sarah replied, tone blasé.

"I'm supposed to say some mildly offending thing her. You're ugly. Kay?" She blew a bubble of her gum, smile as fake as her nails. It was not like being a receptionist on such a highly respected school like Coates (let us not forget that the children's parents are rich – this should mean that they don't send their kids to a stinking rat-hole, right? Right?) required you to have any brains? Nah. Of course not.

(The amount of intelligence on Coates was small. The author did clearly no research at all.)

"Room 100, because of lack of creativity when it comes to numbers. You're sharing with Diana Ladris, that suicidal girl who sometimes jumps of the school building. Oh there you are Diana. Hello. Glad to see you're not hit by a bus or something."

"Hi."

They took to right, not really going anywhere but the readers were getting bored by all the crap so Sarah hurried to meet another damned actual Gone character before the readers left one by one.

Then a dark mysterious and oddly king-like form came to sight. He was half-hidden since he was standing behind a corner, his whole appearance glowing of ambitiousness. You could see that he was attractive, brown hair lying in strands into his flawless face, a smirk that showed that true evil rested within this teenage boy. (A/N: OMG EV-EL!)

"Sarah Helldaughter. I have been expecting you," he said smoothly.

Diana frowned at him, breaking the illusion of the meeting with the main couple. "What the hell Caine? Have you been standing here the entire time just waiting that we would randomly take exactly this way to pass you so you could deliver that line?"

"That is not important."

"For how long have you been standing there?"

"I said, that's not important!" Caine said, but did look a bit cold in the embrace of a light breeze. Diana swore she saw a spider web connected to his right ear to his shoulder, and the beginning of a beard just visible on his chin. "What is rather, _important,_ however, is that this girl harbours a secret."

"Secret?" Sarah's façade suddenly shattered, if not only for a moment.

"Caine. Now you're just being a plain stalker creeper. I mean, this girl is new. You know nothing about her."

"While that is true, I am sure that **123DrakeisSexyoxox123** can come up with a good explanation for why I'm suddenly speaking to new girls as if it was a habit." They waited, but no explanation came. "Well, she'll give the explanation, but not before she gets more reviews."

"We're talking about the same person who made me jump of a roof."

"Yeah, about that. How are you not dead?"

"I'm probably _immortal_ or something." When Diana realized her mistake, a look of utter horror made it to her normally so calm face, realizing what immortal became if you removed the 't'. Oh ma god she had no just mentioned the most horrific Sue stories the HP fandom had seen, had she? Both Diana and Caine shared a shiver that went all from their tip toes and surged with immeasurable speed through them and through each strand of hair.

"...Or just unable to die before the author can make some awesome scene where you-know-who kills me and you go insane and hurts him so she can make a really badass angst scene in a hospital in purpose of making her readers bawl some more."

"Or maybe you're just disgustingly OOC," Caine suggested.

"Maybe," Diana said with a shrug.

Wow, that was way too much dialogue.

"But bye Caine, I need to go now even if I have nothing to do."

Then _**he**_ entered.

"Fuck," Caine broke the moment, and he could practically feel the author's excitement when her male main character entered. "You're gonna use more words on describing _**him**_ than the amount you use when it actually happens shit, right?"

Oh fuck the hell yes.

Thick, blonde hair cut in a semi-long length lay in bangs in his face, matching his tanned skin perfectly. It twinkled in the sunlight that Sarah had to put on sunglasses to observe his sexiness more and not get burnt by his burning hotness, and the even hair fell in a perfect angle. It flew sexily in the wind. He was oh so incredibly handsome, such a beauty only worthy of gods, and as he walked in slow-motion towards her (people were giving him second looks because they were walking completely normal) and _When __I __Grow __Up _by The Pussycat Dolls was playing loudly in the background. He was like an angel with a demon's slyness. Silver eyes twinkled in light from the sun, like two pools of a lot of emotion. Evil radiated off him, even more than it did off Caine, and Sarah could tell with once that Drake was oh so much more handsome and smart and rich than Caine. He was wearing the standard Coates uniform, but somehow it was so much hotter on him than on anyone else. Instead of wearing a tie, the top buttons on his shirt were slightly up, showing off the muscular chest that rested underneath. He was perfectly tanned, but not fake tanned, a real natural tan that is so much sexier than fake ones. Suddenly she could see herself lying against his naked chest, hearing his heartbeat and gentle breath tickling her neck in a sensual position on his bed...

("Drake, why are you shirtless?" Caine wondered. "It's like in the middle of the autumn."

"Oh? This?" Drake gestured to his naked Hercules chest and looked bored, "The contract says that I have to take of my shirt every fifteen minutes." He stared at the new girl, "Someone should fix that. She's gonna overflow Coates if she continues to drool like that." Drake's designer shoes were far too perfect to get ruined so he had jumped up on Caine's back to prevent himself from getting wet – the fangirl-liquids were already reaching to their ankles. "And I'm so badass cold doesn't bite on me."

"And when did you turn sex symbol?" Diana questioned.

"Well, my fangirls seem to assume that since I'm a sadistic psychopath I must be good-looking as well just to match up with their dirty wishes for taming a bad boy.")

...while what followed was hot monkey sex. Drake smirked at her, because that's what sadistic psychopaths do, they randomly smirk at new girls. They had an intense moment of eye contact and it made her legs feel like jelly. It was as if they were meant for each other – she could already tell that he was as messed up as her, it was in his eyes, those deep pools of melted silver... Oh my god, was it just her or was it hot in here?

"We're outside," Caine reminded her.

No matter, because despite being so oh über sadistic, she felt heat rise to her cheeks with a mere look at the sexsymbol in front of him. He'd probably been a pornstar in past life, because his body was perfect. Perfect toned body, perfect eyes, perfect nose, perfect ivory-white shark-teeth that made the most beautiful smiles, perfect muscles on his arms and legs. Drake put on his shirt again, eyes never leaving hers. His gaze was full of mystery, and... despair, an emotion she'd not expected to see but immediately understood the same psychopathic loneliness as he did. Sarah resisted the urge to hump his foot.

Normally Drake's clothes wouldn't be described in Sue fanfics since the Sue authors don't seem to care much over small things like clothes and gives the unwanted impression that Drake is strolling around naked on Coates. If you think this or not is completely left for you do decide, it all depends on how perverted you are. Or how Drake-crazed.

...

(Caine and Diana had tried to hide in a bush from all the invalid description.)

Drake came towards her, interested, because every I'm-totally-in-love-with-Drake fangirls knows that Drake takes interest in random new girls. And they're sure that he's not asexual because of his psychopathic tendencies (**A/N:** I mean, who cares about things like that? Drake is a good old fluff monster underneath with a big fluffy bunny heart and I intend to show everybody that!).

Dear god.

Love is truly blind.

Especially love for stupid characters from young adult (body of an adult mind of a baby) books that doesn't exist in real life. How sad.

Diana, who stuck her head out of nowhere was suddenly feeling the common illness racing around in this story called OOCness, and a desire to be perverted flamed up in her broad chest. Why the size of Diana's chest is mentioned is unsaid but the author won't tell 'till she gets more reviews. "Oh my dearest friend – oh shit, I mean comrade, we all know you don't have any friends nor any hint of hygiene, though I am suddenly feeling very friendly and passionate and I think you need the romantic support of a female ignoring the fact that you're a deranged freak who's soon gonna get a tentacle arm!"

Caine stuck his sexy-but-not-as-sexy-as-Drake's head out of a random bush because wannabe evil overlords sometimes hide in bushes to await the innocent victims that walk by, "Then I will mock you in an obvious attempt to achieve the same thing as Diana but I secretly wish that Drake would be mine one day owing to the fact that **123DrakeisSexyoxox123** is trying to add tension." Caine took a deep breath before screaming his lungs out at the next word, "TENSION."

Then Caine took on his invisible thinking helmet spelling "donkey" that was secretly stealing brain cells from Drake, which Drake so totally didn't need since he was the most intelligent person on Coates. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..." Diana was laughing so hard she at last stood there with no sound coming out and clapping her hands together like a retarded seal before she became serious. "Oh wait you were serious. Okaaaay, that's not true."

Caine continued like nothing had happened. "Sarah kinda wants everyone that has a penis to go after her, including me, Drake, and Cookie. So... Squaredrama?"

Diana was considering jumping off the Coates bundling again and actually manage to kill herself this time so she could end the major mindfucking going on. Luckily for her, she had no penis and thus would not get involved in the ridiculously overdone romance drama.

The author decided that she didn't have use for Caine or Diana anymore so she put them both in a cartwheel and made them roll down a hill or something.

("WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE~!" Caine screamed.

"HOW THE HELL CAN YOU ENJOY THIS?" Diana screamed back.)

Sarah was still engulfed in those mica-coloured mercuric silver steel-grey eyes. Or dark blue like an European ocean. The author can't decide his eye colour because she forgot what it read in the Gone™ books. His sand-blonde hair flew in the wind.

Drake scratched his left ass-cheek and gave a pathetic wave,

"Hey."

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There were no words in any language that could express the ultimate horror that iced through Sam's body at the moment his eyes left the screen and he sunk down, leaning against the nearest wall. He made some pathetic whimper-like noise, his legs threatening to collapse under him.

It took several minutes before he managed to produce something that could be understood in English.

"Jesus... Why did you...?"

Caine sat in his work chair, motionless, just like he'd been when Sam's eyes had scanned through the horrific text on the screen. "You wouldn't believe me otherwise," he said, monotone and quiet, before he slammed the silver PC shut. "Do you understand now?"

"No one... I repeat no one must know." Some kind of odd heroism increased as he spoke, voice full of emotion, "They'd collapse. Of laughter."

Sam nodded, dead serious. "Caine?"

"Yes?"

"Do fangirls really... want to kill me in my sleep?"

"You just read that, didn't you? So I would assume so," nonchalant over his brother's mental state, Caine went in the opposite direction to pull out the plug so the gruesomeness of the internet would no longer tempt them to read such sinful things, like the morbid interest in a splatter movie, a moth drawn to the burning light. "Probably 'cos they direct all their inner hatred of society towards you, since most are nerds such as Ass-turd Ellison, who you cheated on in one of these books~!"

Sam shuddered violently, wrapping his arms around himself in a tight embrace, trying to protect himself from everything scary in this little world. He said nothing for quite a while, before standing up once more. "That someone can make such bullshit..."

"You should've read the slash section," Caine muttered hatefully under his breath as he turned towards the door. Sam's head snapped up in interest, but he soon decided that it was better not to ask. "Now that I'd convinced you too, we better go tell C-Computer Jack and t-that prick Albert Hillsborough. Although we both are scarred for life, we don't want others to figure this out and perhaps make the error to mistake those fanfics for reality, right?"

Nodding, looking rather sad, Sam bit his bottom lip and stood up, legs still shaky. He carefully made his way over to Caine, looking more like a toddler who'd lost his mommy than a fifteen-year-old teenager. Yay for reality.

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"…I'm not really sure, Caine," Diana answered, very much alive, which was quite an accomplishment after going down a hill in a cartwheel. "She seems to be alright physically, but I think the meeting with the main-protagonist was way too early. We should have waited about six chapters at LEAST. It kinda killed her brain." '_If she even has one,' _Diana continued in her head.

Caine, who also was magically alright, bit his thumb in distress. He felt connected to this new girl, and had emotions he could not control for her. Perhaps he'd forget Diana, who he'd been in love with for YEARS and just randomly fall in love with the now brain-dead girl he met ten minutes ago.

::behold the immense power of logic::

"Well well - we can't throw water at her either."

"Nah, it would make her über expensive clothes wet, and we simply CANNOT have THAT. But what about Drake, is he also…?"

"Oh he's just sleeping."

"He's sleeping? While standing?" Diana asked with a deep frown.

"While standing indeed," Caine replied, throwing a look at the ultra mega sexy psychopath. "Being so beautiful as he is tiring. I should know."

Several minutes passed.

Then Sarah woke up from her zombie-like state.

"Hi there," she said, as cool as ever.

Drake, who'd just awoken, awkwardly tried to pose up like the popular kid he was. Yeah, because being a psychopathic sadist who wants to hurt people totally means you're super popular with the other kids. Totally. "Yo," he said nonchalantly, eying her with interest.

It wasn't the sort of eyes that watched a newly-made beefsteak (noooo, that would be too in-character), but the sort of interest he'd never ever felt. This girl… He felt something getting released in his chest just by the mere look of her. Sure he'd had girls before and was a wonderful kisser, but he'd never felt such a strong connection before now…

"Sounds like Drake is some kind of manwhore," Caine whispered to Diana. She just nodded.

Then Computer Jack wandered out of nowhere. Probably wondered what had happened to Caine and Diana after they ran down a couple of hills - was he finally rid of their endless bullying? - but to his disappointment found them both well and alive.

Caine dragged Diana back, "This ain't looking too good."

"What isn't looking too good?"

Instead of being an obnoxious prick and saying "Your face", Caine answered politely, "This is the stereotypic show-that-the-OC-is-just-a-kind-and-naïve-person-based-on-the-author-herself. Then she'll fall hard for the bad boy, change him, plus have some boring and predictable twists and they'll live happily forever after and have lotsa derp babies. The end."

"Wow, you just spoiled the entire plot, Caine."

Caine nodded, "Not spoiling if it's _that_ predictable. But forgot one thing - it's also an opportunity for Drake to show off his abs."

Computer Jack was about to walk in the other direction, Drake suddenly appeared out of nowhere (still flashing his abs), even if he had been standing in another place just a moment ago. He stuck out a foot and tripped Computer Jack, watching as the innocent nerd fell hard into the concrete, breaking his glasses in the process.

Then he had a moment of long, evil laughter.

Sarah narrowed her beautiful eyes, and when he caught sight of it, he just smirked at her, thinking the little stunt with the defenceless insect currently at the ground. Because picking on weaker elements of nature shows what a badass one is. It made sense in Drake's mind, after all - soon she'd be throwing herself over him and let him bathe in kisses and gentle caresses.

"I HATE YOU YOU'RE MEAN!"

Drake's eyebrows shot up in utter surprise.

How unexpected.

"And by that he means totally expected," Caine muttered.

Sarah stood there panting, giving Drake her middle finger and started helping Computer Jack up. "Here, let me help you."

"Thanks but I'll manage nicely on my own," the boy said, trying to wriggle out from her stoic hold at his thin arms. He wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there, which she wouldn't let him, it seemed. Instead she ignored his pleas, grinning like a psychopathic girlfriend.

"Isn't it nice being helped?"

"Yeah but I said thank you so can you please let go-"

"I decided we should be best friends forever and totally hang out together and from now on we're sharing places in math, English…" she rattled off all the remaining lessons, except gym, which she loathed despite being super good at it in this fanfic.

"Um I already sit with other people," Computer Jack explained, frowning, "and it's kind of rude of you to just-"

"I SAID I'LL BE YOUR NEW BFF YOU, BITCH!" Sarah screamed, the suddenly violent temper caused by severe problems at home and an inner turmoil too gigantic to any normal person to handle.

Computer Jack made an utterly terrified sound and managed to wrestle himself out of her grip by using his superpower. (The author had forgotten that he wouldn't know of it until much later. But who cares about canon details?) He ran as fast as he could into the school hall to warn the teachers. But none of the teachers cared about him, because everybody knows that all teachers are secretly evil killer machines with only one mission - to make their students' lives a living Hell. _Yes_.

Sarah made a "Pfft" sound, mentally blaming Drake for her new best friend's disappearance. She looked at Diana, and received a bored look in return. _'Why isn't Diana shocked over Drake's attitude?'_ Sarah wondered, _'And why didn't she stop the bullying?' _Doubts were sneaking into her brain, making her dwell on things she thought she was sure on. Diana didn't seem as kind as she'd first believed…

She glanced at Drake for some reason, finally finding the courage to look him straight in those wild blue eyes.

_**Drake's pov**_

YES! She looked at me! My sexiness must be like some sort of magic because I can feel her beautiful gaze on me, drinking me up… It's so wonderful, and she's falling right into my gap, like a fly caught of the spider.

_**Sarah's pov**_

My heart is filled with mixed emotions! Oh angst! He's a beautiful but a bit disturbed, and kind of a major asshole, but I can see past all that and see the angel lurking underneath the darkness!

I will be his personal Jesus and save him from Hell… I cannot stop my heart from beating fast every time I look at him although I met him only five minutes ago. It's love at first sight - but can I really mingle with the enemy? He's evil, I can tell, but can't I try cure it?

_**Diana's pov**_

"GOD DAMMIT STOP CHANGING OUR POVS MY HEAD HURTS-"

_**Sarah's pov**_

No! He's evil!

I mustn't be lured by his overwhelming sexiness, even if there's a kinder person underneath it all. I must be strong and resist that sand-blonde demon…

Besides he's sort of messed up in the head, killing people and crap like that, but that's not a good enough reason to clear him off my Hot-Guys list.

_**Caine's pov**_

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE GET OVER YOUR INNER TURMOIL AND STOP CHANGING THE-"

_**Drake's pov**_

She will be mine. Even if something cold just fell over her, she's not out of my reach just yet. I'll do anything in my power to overpower this wonderful being, because she shall become mine one day.

Not today, not tomorrow, but someday… Well, maybe tomorrow, but certainly not today, since they're showing a special new episode of Pretty Little Liars and I _can't_ miss that!

_**Third person pov**_

"Thank god's that over," Diana said, so glad people weren't inside her brain anymore. She looked to her left however, only to find Caine passed out on the pavement ground. Looking up, she saw a dark cloud coming their way. "We better get inside before it starts raining~"

She grabbed Caine's foot and started dragging him inside. Drake and Sarah followed, so close that their arms touched. Their breaths quickened, and both looked away, a blush dusting Drake's cheeks. Let's get this straight. Drake is blushing. Drake Merwin, a sadistic psychopath without concern for another human beings, and a supposed manwhore in this story, blushed when he walked close to one of the female sex. Get it? Great. Just thought I'd make this completely clear.

When inside the main entrance, they just stood there for a minute. Students passed, but most took large turns to avoid Drake. Diana locked at her clock, sighing, "Three, two, one…"

Exactly on time, Caine jumped up, doing two backflips before he landed on his feet like an acrobat. "And I'm back!"

"You didn't go anywhere, Caine."

"Shush Diana! Anyway, where was I? Oh yes… I have some mega important business to discuss with you, Merwin. If you don't come with me to my evil lair I'll go through with my threat of sending you three walls in three seconds, just to test my limits…"

"You have an evil lair?" Diana said, frowning.

The gulp and nod Caine got in response was enough for him, and he turned to Diana. "And for you, m'queen, would you be so kind to show Sarah to her dorm room?"

"Of course, Fearless Leader," Diana replied with a smirk, as if an understanding passed between the two. "I shall do as commanded~ Come, Sarah. This way."

Like a dumb dog, Sarah followed, too engulfed in her own feelings towards a certain psychopath to notice that she was lead straight into a trap. That was her reason for crashing into a nearby locker anyway. Because she's not a Sue, and has _flaws_.

Then Computer Jack came back and begged to be her BFF and she forgave him like the beautiful merciful goddess she was.

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_**Next day**_

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"Oh what a wonderful morning~!" Sarah started the day with, only to nearly fall out of bed when she found Diana lying in the bed on the opposite side. "When the hell did you get here?"

"Well because you're my second new best friend I decided I needed to keep an eye on you, therefore I asked if we shared room and for some reason they'd already made us roommates from before! Isn't that awesome, random, and slightly creepy? Creepy in a good way, 'course."

"Sure," Sarah said and smiled, "That's not creepy at all." She'd forgotten all about her ponders from yesterday, and what went on inside her mind at the moment were echoes of 'Drake, Drake, Drake, Drake…' and so on.

And perhaps some things that reminded her off her gruesome past, with the abuse and all… But let us not forget… There is almost never sexual abuse in an OC fanfic, because the authors have no idea how to write it and most of them don't even know how sex works. Where the penis goes is obviously not enough when writing porn - any individual no matter how psycho should know that.

(In another room, where _someone_ was just finished with her long explanation…  
>"The penis goes where?" Drake blurted, utterly horrified.)<p>

Their shared chamber was rather beautiful, with golden curtains and white walls. The floor was made out of solid stone, but a sheep rug was there to warm their bare feet in cold mornings. In all, it was good enough for Sarah. She got up and studied her new school uniform.

"It will look so nice on you~ Here, let me help put it on!" Diana offered, smirking when she looked how shy and uncertain Sarah looked. Didn't the girl know that she was the hottest girl created by god… even if she still was very, very, very average. "What did I say? It looks super cute on you!" she said after Sarah was fully dressed. Diana's fake act didn't go unnoticed by Sarah.

Caine sat outside their room and gnawed on a slipper. "HELLO? DIANA? WHERE ARE YOU? I'M ALOOONE." Thereafter he made some barking noises.

She stuck her head out for a moment, only to have Caine dancing around going "There you were there you were there you were~!" She slammed the door shut in his face, only to have him repeating "WHERE DID YOU GO? DIANAAAA…"

"Every fucking day…" She started massaging her forehead, muttering something about an incoming headache. "Go be desperate somewhere else Caine! Shoo! Bad doggie!" She heard a weak whimper in sudden lack of resistance, and then disappearing footsteps. Thank god. He was getting worse each day.

Diana started polishing her hip new designer shoes, and when finished, she and Sarah headed for class.

Walking through the Coates building with a famous person felt safe, especially when people sent her bizarre glances. One would believe students had enough with their own messed up selves, but apparently, they didn't, and had to start whispering about this beautiful- I mean this _average _new person.

Diana ignored all of it, just wore her standard unimpressionable expression. "Let me see your class schedule please," and Sarah handed it to her without a word. "Oh my god! We have all classes together! That wasn't ironical at all!" After a high-five with Sarah, she read further. "But oh… Seems like you have all of your classes with Merwin as well… Typical…" she pretended to be disappointed.

Sarah blushed, mouthing a small "o".

"Oh well, if I can live through Caine's endless love confessions I'm sure you can avoid being slaughtered by Merwin~ Yes?" Diana said. Sarah wasn't listening, too lost in her own dwellings. Her plan of avoiding Drake so that she wouldn't fall even deeper in love with the psychopath seemed to fail.

"It's math now anyway~ Algebra. I don't know why, but it's always algebra. _Always_."

"Okay," Sarah said, raising an eyebrow, but not deciding to question Diana, who was grinning like a pyromaniac at that moment. They headed towards the lockers.

When Diana opened her locker, thousands of candy hearts and self-made cookies streamed out. Soon she was in a complete heap of cards and candy. She had to swim out of it, her head sticking out from the top. "Oh for Christ's sake it's not even close to Valentine's Day!"

"What do you do on Valentine's Day then?" Sarah asked, chuckling a bit while she helped Diana climb out of her prison.

"It's not that big for me, and I prefer to get sick that day. I mean week. Sometimes month. Valentine's Day is really just a day where teenage males' feel pressured to buy pointless gifts for their significant other in order to prove their love and fulfil the meaning for that one day. Their teenage hormones go crazier than usual in anticipation for sex and generally result in the most desired of the female kin to be bombarded with silly gifts, which is really just sexual invitations, and results with them going crying home alone, with broken hearts and raging boners, dying."

"Wow. That was very insightful, Diana."

"Don't know where I have it from," she replied, shrugging. She walked over to a giant poster to get her mind over on something else, skimming through a couple of cards that had extra work put into them. It was just to not appear completely unapproachable so the men would keep on trying. "Ah, that explains it all. There's a giant ball on Saturday."

"There is?" Sarah locked her locker after collecting the scattered English books already in there. She walked over to Diana, reading through it fast. "Oh…"

"Aw, you don't have a date for the ball, do you? 'Cos if you had, I know this perfect dress that would compliment your hair colour so magically every boy around her would fall for you… And it's half price down town… OH WELL I'll buy it instead!" She hugged her textbook closer, grinning. "And now, just to be a total bitch, I'll leave you here. But you're too naïve to understand my true intentions of bringing you and Drake together so I'll have some new blackmail material~! Goodbye, muwhahaha…"

She skipped off, her evil laughter echoing through Coates. People were too used to this to comment on it.

"Okay," Sarah said weakly, waving, like she'd just not heard Diana's entire evil plan.

Wandering the halls alone wasn't a wise idea. She found herself lost pretty soon. "Hello? Anybody there?" she called out, only to be answered by silence. She continued, hugging her English books closer, feeling fear creep into her expression.

Because Coates was a super big school, and getting lost was very easy. It wasn't so easy to wander into a random classroom and ask for directions either, for some unexplained reason.

Then she saw him.

The fallen angel, standing there in all his might… and scratching his behind as usual. "I got a bitch of an itch on my right ass cheek!" he growled, but that didn't ruin the illusion she'd created of him as a hottie.

Drake had just spotted her, and in slow-motion, a shark-like grin stretched on his lips.

He walked towards her, and her heart had never beaten faster. Again her inner turmoil increased, and even if she was pretty badass, she couldn't resist her natural attraction towards the beautiful beast in front of her. In a moment or two, she could feel his hot breath on her face, the warm air caressing her skin gently and caused her to go a little pink. This merely caused a breathless chuckle to slip past his full lips, the horrifying (and sexy) grin stretching almost above his eyes, like the Cheshire cat's half-moon grin, although it wasn't physically possible.

Mumbling something inaudible, he grew thoughtful for a moment, staring at her. Oh. So there weren't just air inside Drake's head. What a surprise.

Sarah regained her ability to act rather quickly and attempted an escape, although somewhere deep within her it screamed at her to stay still. Animals wouldn't harm you unless intimidated, and Drake reminded her of a beautiful and sleek Great White Shark. Still, like the strong independent woman (girl) she was, she tried to slip past him.

Drake would have none of it.

Smashing his fists on each side of her head, he managed to create some sorely-needed panic in those big, pretty eyes of hers. She began to struggle now, more frightened that he'd harm her. Stupid girl. Not faced with her resistance, he grabbed her wrists and squeezed, hard. Not hard enough to seriously damage of course - he was nice with potential girlfriends, because psychos also have a raging desire for a significant other, even if said psychos cannot feel love.

"Where do you think you're going, little fish?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Interrupting a kidnapping is never very wise, is it now? Don't know if you're aware of this but in most cases big fish eat the little fish, and I'm a motherfucking White Shark."

He brought her closer to him, pressing their chests together so both her hands were trapped in-between their bodies. With his free hand, his fingers locked around her chin, forcing her head up. "Oi, you look nervous. Is it the scars? You wanna know how I got them?"

Ignoring the film reference because she didn't get it (she was to busy viewing good movies in 3D), she punched him in the jaw.

This made him fly backwards (123DrakeIsSexyoxox123: She's an ass-kicking, geeky, sexy, shy, martial arts master - deal with it), his hand grabbing his hurt point, muttering vulgarities under his breath that were no foul no list here.

"Kitty got claws," he muttered, but sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Whatever. We'll talk about this later. Right now Caine wanted to summon you to a meeting."

"Okay," Sarah said without blinking, walking right beside Drake even if he'd just sexually assaulted her. Inside he was just a misunderstood teenager with some slight issues, and she was going to save him! But first she needed to gain his trust. Then he would love him and they would marry each other.

When entering, Caine didn't react fast enough to deliver one of his long speeches (he'd practised it in front of the bathroom mirror for a week now) because Sarah had gone insane and drawn a knife.

"TELL ME EVERYTHING ABOUT SUPERNATURAL POWERS YOU KNOW OR I'LL KILL YOU!"

"'KAY!" Caine shouted back, screaming like a little pussy. He tried to hide behind an unimportant freak someone but Sarah jumped up and slit their throat. Caine screaming turned to resemble a school girl's, and he ran to Diana for comfort.

Drake ran forward but before he could do anything, Sarah had him cornered. When a knife was pressed to his throat, Drake wasn't afraid of her, because Drakes aren't afraid of anything or anyone. He smiled, "Oh well, at least I'm gonna die with a raging boner."

_tbc…_


	33. Marble

**Disclaimer:** MG doesn't know Norwegian. _Hah_.

**Rated:** M

**Beta: **DreamCatcher96

**Warning:** Angst, bitterness, mentions towards that of a sexual nature and bad words

**Type: **Sequel epilogue thing

**Genre: **Tragedy

**Pairing:** Dram

**Summary:** Life is miserable, especially if your lover broke up by breaking your legs. Now, Sam is crippled, deranged and distrusted among the townies, and Drake won't let go as easily either.

**Words: **5'500+

**A/N: **This was originally meant to be a separate fic entitled **Marble**, but nooope, too little plot and too much angst. So it became an epilogue told in a bunch of segments inspired by the Seven Virtues (which is meant to be horribly ironic). CLASSY. I'm not too happy with this, so may delete this when I write something worthy of putting it with the actual Onyx story.

Again, thank you to everybody who read/reviewed/favourite'd and subbed Onyx!

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_The word "marble" derives from the Greek "__μάρμαρον__" (mármaron), from "__μάρμαρος__" (mármaros), "crystalline rock", "shining stone", perhaps from the verb "__μαρμαίρω__" (marmaírō), "to flash, sparkle, gleam". This stem is also __the basis for the English word marmoreal, meaning "marble-like."_

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**Onyx: Epilogus **

**Marble**

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_"The true end of tragedy is to purify the passions." _

-Aristotle

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**Castitas (chastity)**

The state of being chaste; purity; abstention from sexual intercourse; virginity or celibacy: a vow of chastity

**.**

Diana could tell something was wrong when Drake came home that night. However, she knew better than to confront him about it after all they'd been through together. Still, Diana had never seen him like this.

It was obvious something was tearing him apart, because when Drake arrived at the ruins of Coates academy, covered in blood and smelling like sex and vomit, the first thing he did was beat up a random child until it was nothing but a bloodied pulp on the school floor. No one had noticed that his eyes were puffy and red but Diana - and it seemed surreal.

Drake did not cry. Never.

The only time where she'd seen him cry was when she had to sawn his arm off, and what could possibly be worse than having half a limb removed?

Consumed by wondering and musings, she didn't see Caine approach, not noticing him before he spoke.

"The demon is dead inside," Caine said, smiling, eyes half-lidded like he was half-asleep. "Dead_er_ than before, even. Died tonight. He didn't kill _'im_, not _really_ anyway. But you mustn't tell, hush hush. He'll find out about on his own... He'll find out. We know."

"Who told you that, Caine?" Diana asked quietly, used to his bizarre ramblings by now, but still curious. She knew he wouldn't recall any of it in the morning. He was getting better now, having less and less of his personality disorder moments where he'd go from one person to another for each time he closed and opened his eyes.

"Told me what?" he asked innocently, hugging his teddy bear closer. "Nobody tells me anything. Are you feeling alright, Diana?"

Another yell of frustration accompanied by the scream of another random innocent who had stumbled upon the monster echoed through Coates. Caine didn't even flinch, just hugged the toy animal even harder, blinking tiredly.

"Let's get you to sleep, Soren," Diana said simply, guiding him towards his bedroom again.

"He won't. Not tonight," the child-like little king whispered, following her like an obedient dog, talking more to himself than her. "He'll stay awake. He'll stay awake and weep because he killed his angel."

**.**

**.**

**Humanitas (kindness)**

The practice or quality of being kind, doing a kind, considerate, or helpful act

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Astrid had survived.

Barely, if one could even call her blabbering state for living. Okay physically, but mentally? Well, she'd received the nickname 'the Crazy Jesus Lady' by kids, which explained her sanity well. Not only had she lost one arm, she'd lost her mind as well.

No one could make any sense of her words; the meaning buried to thickly underneath bible quotes, holy prayers and memorized hymns. One thing was clear though - whatever had happened that night weeks ago had destroyed her completely, as well as the other one who'd been involved.

Sam Temple.

Townies whispered among themselves, gossip being a great source of entertainment. Most knew Drake was involved because of the long whip marks seen on Astrid and Sam's skin. No one dared to ask though, not after the kid who'd almost ended up blind after mentioning a certain four-bar to the batshit Astrid living in a sacristy on the west side of Perdido Beach.

Clearly, she thought of him as a demon of some kind.

That was what she'd screamed, anyway, among other ungodly things about her crippled ex-boyfriend.

But the crippled boy didn't seem threatening at all. Yet there was something about those half-lidded yet piercing blue eyes that kept people from speaking to him. He'd be taken around in a wheelchair from Perdido Beach high school's special class, legs wrapped in bandages. Rarely spoke anymore, only when he needed to.

Even then it was simple answers like yes or no or one-word words.

But it was clear that the fateful night weeks ago must've been a terrible one.

The whispers followed wherever he went, wheelchair croaking quietly and Sam even quieter; one had to take a closer look to make sure he was still breathing. The one pushing his wheelchair were usually either Dahra or Dekka, those being the two that didn't ask him questions unless it was absolutely necessarily.

Most people knew that the council had tried pressing him for information though - Howard had accidently let it slip to Taylor and now the whole population of Perdido Beach knew about it. How they'd pressed him to the point where they were shouting, trying to get answers out of him.

Sam answered, yes, but never enough. There were some things he kept quiet about though, and he'd get this hollow look each time Drake's name was as much as muttered in his pretence like someone gauged his eyes each time.

Details of the night remained a mystery. Astrid was too mad to cooperate, Drake no one wanted to ask anything off (or have anything to do with for that matter), and Sam...?

Sam was a living coffin, too dead inside to care about mortal affairs.

The prison bars were all around him, and he saw them clearly, although they were transparent and pretended to not exists by his ever so trustful friends. He couldn't leave because he was crippled and wouldn't get anywhere without help - and who wanted to help a traitor?

Because somehow, with the council swearing that everything he'd said would never leave the room, everyone knew that he'd betrayed them. They didn't know how or why, they just knew.

_'Fucking Taylor.'_

They were all around him, the council. He was a small bug in comparison, standing at the bottom of a ring where the townies sat high above, gazing down at him like a gladiator expected to die, curious and horrible.

Hoping - deep inside of them, buried underneath all that fake moral crap - that the prison bars would close in on him and squeeze out a proper explanation so they could live on without curiosity squeezing their own minds.

What rats humans are when you strip them from long explanations full of sophisticated language, fake reasons and empty meanings. Humans devoured each other, in one way or another. One would believe that kids who faced hardships became less judgemental, but in reality, when they'd managed to cope with their own issues they expected the world to do the exact same thing. "I managed, so why can't other? Pussies."

_'Heartless.'_

Someone spat after the wheelchair as Sam rolled past only to run away right after.

(_'He must be a traitor!'_ the boy decided, glaring after him. Sam hadn't denied it, certainly, which was just the same as agreeing to the accusation, really. Hadn't even allowed the Healer to heal his legs. _'It must be guilt! How else could he endure?'_)

Sam didn't mind, just pondered some more.

Eyes followed him wherever he went, pretending not to, but so overly curious they couldn't help but twist their stupid little minds to answer their own questions.

"Isn't the sunrise beautiful, Sam?" the new nurse girl asked gently, trying to get him to open up. Maybe she expected him to break down in her arms. Maybe it just slipped from her lips. "It always gives me hope, to see the sun come up again like that, although they say it's a fake one."

"I despise sunrises," Sam replied blankly.

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**Temperantia (temperance)**

Restraint or moderation, especially in yielding to one's appetites or desires

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"Open your mouth Sam."

The dead-panned look she received over from the hospital bed was answer enough. The top to toe bandages boy in the bed sighed and went on staring out the window - something he always did, always waiting patiently for something Dahra wasn't sure even he knew was what.

"You need to eat, Sam," she said.

"I don't need to do anything," was the curt reply.

Soft snores accompanied their endless banter, Sam never once having thanked her for her hospitality. It frustrated her (wasn't she good enough?), but at the same time guilt blended in with it.

She was one of the few that knew (to an extent) what had happened that night along with Lana, Edilio and a few chosen others. Dahra guessed this was why the four-bar despised receiving help from her - he believed she pitied him.

Which she did, in a way.

"Mark eats his food. You should follow his example," came a pissed response from the other hospital bed, the girl being the sister of Mark, a guy who slept most of the time although he'd just mildly wounded an arm after falling down from a roof.

The kid slept and slept and slept.

Sam didn't even acknowledge her existence - he mostly didn't with anyone. He knew what sort of whispers there were about him, and most weren't positive. If the rumours weren't hateful, they were pitying, something that was even worse. He didn't need anyone's pity.

"It won't change anything if you starve yourself," Dahra said tiredly. "I'm trying to be nice here."

Sam continued to stare lifelessly out the window.

"Have it your way," she said finally.

It was always the same things she said, over and over, and she knew it, too. 'How are you feeling today Sam?', and 'You need to eat, Sam', and 'I'm sorry Sam, we can't let you leave'. He was kept here like some prisoner of war; nobody knew quite what to do with him, even if he wasn't running anywhere thanks to his broken legs.

"I will," he said simply.

Time passed - he swore he could see the fake moon moving over the horizon.

"It's seven weeks ago now," he mused to himself, always staring out the window, as if waiting for something. A Sammy Sun floated mid-air near the window, the greenish light always keeping him safe. After that gruesome day, he'd become even more scared of the dark.

Dekka sat near the hospital bed, reading an old magazine, keeping him company on such a late hour. She looked up, not pressuring him to continue, but waiting. What he had to say now could be more important than any of the little information the remaining council had managed to force out of Sam.

"Seven weeks ago I had to drag myself into town, half-naked, bloody, scaring the living daylight out of all the kids that happened to come across me. No one came, so I had to do it myself. No one came."

"Sam," Dekka began quietly, "we thought you were dead."

"But I wasn't, was I?" He didn't even feel bad for blaming them anymore. "I'm not sure… It felt like it though. All the time when I lay never, bare and stained with my own blood, I felt like I was killed. Like, floating in outer space and stuff, thinking, but not really there, breathing only because my instincts made me do it. He killed me, y'know? He really did. Sam Temple died that day."

"You're still here, Sam. Still doing what you do."

He waved it away, not interested. "I'm talking about mentally, Dekka. I lay there a long time, after he'd raped me. I couldn't feel my legs, and I was cold, hungry, and so exhausted. I hated myself and I want to die." He sighed, like he could remember it all but it somehow wasn't his memories. Then he blinked, "Still do."

"You want to kill yourself?"

Sam sighed, "Not anymore, I'm far too empty. But I do hate myself."

And the kid beside them slept and slept and slept.

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**Humilitās (humility)**

The quality or condition of being humble; modest opinion or estimate of one's own importance, rank, etc.

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"You tried poisoning the food."

How had Sam gotten on top of this hill?

He'd pushed himself up there, of course, pushed the wheelchair until sweat was drenching his auburn hair and his lungs deprived of sweet oxygen. Sam had burnt a hole through the person that was supposed to roll his wheelchair in his regular morning strolls, just after finding out that she was a Human Crew accomplice, supposed to assassinate him in his sleep after the very stroll.

Now she lay bleeding out in a ditch near the hospital area of Perdido Beach. She'd live though, if any picked her up within a few hours time, and he guessed more people would help now, since the ones who'd found the macabre remains of him on the sidewalk and actually _done_ something other than stare had been rewarded handsomely by Albert.

Sam tilted his head to the side, chewing on his thumb.

"It wasn't enough to kill you," was the quick and hesitant answer.

"I know. Pity. So why are you here, out running errands for your master like a good boy?" Sam wondered. "Does he feed you cookies when you're done, eh, Merwin?"

Drake's hand bailed into a fist, the whip cracking irritably in the air. Sam didn't care, and continued to gaze at him through a half-lidded stare. "Jesus," Drake muttered. "Do you- Do you feel _nothing at all_?"

"That's your words to me after you raped and killed me?" Sam asked, sounding oddly curious.

"Don't be so fucking straightforward about it!"

Sam laughed. It was a terrible sound and Drake wanted to choke him, but that brought back so many emotions that he had to step backwards not to cry out with inner pain. Sam was laughing so hard his stomach hurt, and he had to bend down while the hysterical noises came up from his ribcage, mentally hearing that he could hear his broken bones cracked together.

The grin immediately vanished as he sat back up, looking dead.

"Am I too _straightforward_, Merwin? Want me to sugar-coat the fact that you nearly burnt my ex-girlfriend alive and forced yourself on me right after that? You broke me, Merwin, physically as well as mentally. How do you want me to say it in a not straightforward way? That you fucked me although I sort of _not_ wanted it, or that you _made love to me without my consent_-"

"SHUT UP!"

Unable to hold back, he grabbed Sam by the collar, lifting him up from the wheelchair. It felt like Sam weighted nothing. He was like a little butterfly. "Sammy..." Drake breathed, longing in his voice.

"Merwin," Sam answered in the exact same way, looking awed. Then his fist came flying and he punched Drake across the face with all the power that he got and with all the anger and bitterness that tainted his soul.

Sam couldn't hold the glorious smirk for long though because Drake pulled him with him -

_to Hell_

And they fell down crashing into the ground several times, dust all around them -

_dust and ashes _

Clinging to each other like it was the end of everything -

_till Hell flames burned them to nothing_

"Sam!" Drake cried out, watching how Sam tore himself away from him seconds before they hit the mud at the foot of the hill. It splashed everywhere and Sam cried out in pain, landing on his legs.

Tears streamed down his face and he let out a weakened moan, dragging himself across the ground.

Drake wasn't sure what to say as Sam whimpered while steadying himself against the trunk of a rotten tree (as rotten as Drake felt), looking like he was in great pain. It reminded him so much of the old Sam - the one that was human, and he felt the need to go and help him up and sputter some nonsense how it meant nothing, like he'd done before.

"Do this... Does this amuse you, Drake?" Sam asked, smiling that terrible smile once again, despite the overwhelming pain.

"No," Drake answered bluntly.

And as rays of light fell upon his face (as if granted by the gods), Sam could see that it was genuine. It made him laugh again, and his entire body shook with laughter and pain. "Oh Merwin, to believe I could love such an odd and cruel creature such as yourself."

The word love made Drake's head hurt.

He felt like throwing up.

Sam's insane smile widened and he gestured to his own body. He was no longer feeling his legs, but oh well. "Do you want to fuck me again, Merwin? Does it turn you on to see me like this, weakened and crippled? Makes you the fucking man, doesn't it, taking me when I'm hurt and depressed, needing for the love you can't give me? That's what you think of when you touch yourself at night?"

That was over the line.

Drake turned to the side and retched, just like he'd done all those days ago.

"I said 'I loved you', Merwin, remember that? Betcha ya do. Gives you a boner, doesn't it?"

"S-Shut up."

"Oh c'mon, doesn't it turn you on? I love you, I love you, I love you~"

Drake fell on his knees, panting. When he looked up, his face was full of pain. The horrible three words echoed all around him and he tried in vain to cover his ears to block it out. It filled his head now, Sam's voice, although he'd stopped to just admire the mess that was his rapist.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!"

Drake crawled through dirt and mud, trying to escape the crazed individual's words. Mad laughter echoed all around him, following each step and he stumbled and fell, trembling like a child stuck in a nightmare.

Nothing had scared him more than Sam in that moment.

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**Industria (diligence)**

constant and earnest effort to accomplish what is undertaken; persistent exertion of body or mind; the quality of being diligent; constant, careful effort; perseverance

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Their constant screaming made his head hurt, pushing through his eardrums and ending in a hysteric orchestra inside his head, provoking his migraine.

Sam rolled forward, face dimly illuminated by about a dozen small green lights floating all around him, following him wherever he went. They were so many now, but oh so few, and Sam wasn't even aware of how he managed to get them to follow him around.

Something in his mind just made them do it without him even lifting a finger after making them, like they were programmed by an unknown force to do so.

He was pushed forward by a boy he didn't even know what name was, causing a final silence to fall over the place. He'd been too late though - a girl was already dying on the ground, a possible friend or big brother standing over her and trying to protect what would soon become another corpse Edilio would have to bury.

"Kill them," the boy encouraged in an emotionless voice.

Sam smirked. Death didn't bother him anymore, and he let his pupils dart slowly from one Human Crew member to another, easily making them out from the crowd. They now had matching t-shirt with an f and a red against sign on top of it, clumsily pained on. It was probably supposed to scare children, but on the good side made them easier for Sam to recognise from innocents.

But who was he kidding; who was innocent in the FAYZ?

"Kill the freak!"

Kill, kill, kill. Sam was sick of the word. It made something twist inside of him; something awful and dark.

There was hesitance in those three words though - killing a freak was a great deed for the little Human Crew fuckers, but killing a crippled ex-leader stuck in a wheelchair? Not that great. But hatred consumed their sense of moral, and their justice shone through everything, blending them with supposed white light.

Their justice.

In actuality, not any sort of justice at all.

Thousands of small ones ran towards him, the screaming having started up yet again.

Sam closed his eyes tightly, and stuck out a hand, sending out bright green light. Green was the colour of nature and life, the exact opposite of what he did with his laser arms. But he didn't care much though - he despised symbolism. Reminded him too much of old private jokes, demons and Astrid Ellison.

When he opened his eyes, the screaming had been silenced, but the fire ball had gone straight through a boy's chest. He blinked a few times, not seemingly understanding what was going on. The stink of burnt flesh started to spread, making Sam smirk. The boy fell backwards, eyes wide open in a silent plea of help.

Oh, judging by the small astounded faces all around him, the boy must've been the HC leader.

What a lucky incident.

Sam's mind was too clouded to remember his name, but another boy soon helped him. "Zil!" There it was. "You killed him! You monster! You killed him!"

No matter who it would've been though, it still gave out a perfect message to the surrounding wannabe killers. Several homemade weapons hit the pavement, some twisted sob released from the dying freak girl. But she smiled as she died - nothing was sweeter than vengeance, even on one's deathbed.

Panic spread itself in the crowds, starting out as shudders, before the gut-wrenching fear finally attacked their paralyzed minds. Like hysterical birds, the kids flew in all directions, freaks as well as anti-freak crusaders. Fear doesn't discriminate, it devours everything alive it being good or evil or somewhere in between.

In his haze, Sam grabbed the one that had accused him for murder and held him up after his collar. Someone called his name - Lance, if Sam heard correctly - but fled like the rest, not caring for a falling comrade when his life was on the stake. That was the most disgusting part with the darling humans, Sam decided.

"M-Murderer..." Lance stammered, terrified. "You murdered him... You're not supposed to kill children..."

"Children? Calm down, I don't kill children." Sam shot him a terrible grin, it being taught by the best.

"I only kill monsters."

And thousands of small Sammy Suns that once had proved safety for the owner flew after the kids on his command, now mini killer machines, burning straight through anti-freaks.

Screaming erupted, but Sam didn't mind, he just turned back to a paralyzed Lance.

"Did you love that guy? The one I killed, the leader guy?"

Sam didn't even need to say who it was.

"Yes." Lance's beautiful eyes were burning, and Sam realized that under all that hatred, he was still a beautiful little boy angel in love with Zil and the craziness that it brought. "I love him."

"Do you still do, knowing you'll die for him? _Because_ of him?"

Lance nodded, doll-like face suddenly incredibly calm. "Yeah."

"Lucky," Sam said as warmth started to spread beneath his fingertips.

Seconds later, he let go off the headless body, rolling his way around the massacred still-burning and still-fresh bodies that decorated the bloody pavement. He wasn't surprised to see the boy who'd just asked him to murder them all to be burning as well - he'd been wearing the Human Crew t-shirt too.

"It's a strange world we live in," he muttered.

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**Caritas (charity)**

Benevolent goodwill toward or love of humanity, generosity and helpfulness especially toward the needy or suffering; _also_: aid given to those in need

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Sunrise.

Sam had gone off again - he'd seen Drake waiting when looking out the window. He'd also somehow managed to get out even if the townies had doubled the prison bars, having people watch him so they knew he wouldn't go on a sudden killing spree. They were just covering up the fact that they were the ones that had asked him to end the Human Crew in the first place.

He didn't mind much.

He'd gotten out anyway - made some people unconscious and threatened other people's cousins in less than two sentences, and now he was here, meeting up with Drake for a second time. He knew it would come back to haunt him, this rising the high suspicion of him being a traitor.

One cannot haunt dead people though.

And here he was, standing with Drake on top of the same hill.

Drake hadn't built up any confidence. He'd just sunken lower into his mess of a heart.

"I'll shoot myself if you don't come with me." His hand was shaking, but he had enough guts to hold the gun up against his head. There weren't a doubt in Sam's mind that said he wasn't lying, and he knew this was just a test to see how emotionally unattached Sam had become from him.

Sam had no wishes hiding it either.

So he just stared at Drake, expression blank and emotionless.

"I don't care," Sam said simply.

The gun dropped to the ground. Drake fell on his knees in front of Sam, kneeling.

"You're pathetic," Sam muttered hatefully, disgusted not only by his lover, but also by himself for feeling sorry for him. "And I'm no better. I'll never care for you again, Merwin. You ended our relationship when you killed me. What did you expect? Me to forgive and kiss your ass after you'd violently taken me _against_ my _will_? Pathetic, Merwin."

"I just want it to be like it was before!" Drake shouted, standing up again, upset. "Before all this shit! Before everything! Like when you were with me on Coates, and I visited you each night and… and…"

Sam laughed without humour.

"You want it to be like before?" His smile disappeared. "Don't make me laugh. Are you really that stupid? You can't get back with your lover after you murder them, Drake."

"You're still here," Drake said simply. He reached out and touched Sam, and the other boy didn't even flinch with the hesitant touch.

"Of course." Sam smiled coldly. "The soldier Sam is still here. Your Sammy? The one that loved Drake and called him his? He died the moment you forced your nasty cock into him and fucked the life out of him." Drake cringed at those words. "What, is the truth that bad to hear, _rapist_? 'Cos someone's gotta tell it to you."

If it had been anyone other than Sam, he'd bashed their skull in. But he couldn't touch Sam, because there were too many emotions twisting his heart around just by looking at him, and touching Sam again would make Drake throw up. "I hate you," he said, hand shaking. "I hate you so goddamn much."

"Oh Drakey, I'm glad to hear," Sam drawled sarcastically, "'cos the feeling's mutual."

Drake couldn't take it anymore. He turned around to walk away without a word.

"It didn't need to end like this."

"It didn't."

Drake didn't turn around completely, his head just crooked to the side.

"You just made it do, Merwin," Sam finished.

Drake's Adam's apple bobbed.

"I loved you, Sammy," he said, and his voice broke.

"I don't care," Sam replied.

Then Drake gave one last stare and turned around and walked away until he was out of sight.

It was the last time they'd see it each other, and it was _bitter_, so utterly _bitter_, that they could taste it in the air.

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**Patientia (patience)**

Tolerant and even-tempered perseverance, the capacity for calmly enduring pain, trying situations, etc.

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"This is the place," Caine said, feet sinking into the sand. In was in the middle of the day and incredibly hot, and he had no idea why he'd agreed to come here with his twin-brother, of all people! But Caine wouldn't allow himself to show it, and took on a calm façade.

Still, it wasn't like he could hurt his brother. No. Not after what he'd been through.

Although honour was something easily dismissed, something clicked in Caine's mind when he tried to damage Sam verbally or physically, like as if he knew exactly what Sam had been through. Caine knew he'd never fight his brother again, especially since it was he who was pushing the wheelchair right now.

"I see."

Sam had refused any help, and given a thunderous speech when someone had objected on only him and Caine coming out here. He'd said this was something only his brother could help him with, to everybody's (including Caine's) shock. This was the first time in weeks he'd delivered such a long, heartless rant where he hit every bad angle of their weak arguments, eyes as cold as ice.

They had no choice but to let him go, because at one point it had gotten to the point where Sam threatened to crucify or set himself on fire if they didn't allow him this one trip away. He'd even went as far as delivering a taste of his true thoughts - _"Isn't it enough that you fucking townies have to remind me that I've been raped every single day?"_

So Sam had gotten his will, at last.

A solitude trip into the desert along with the only other four-bar in the FAYZ, and not another soul.

"This is where he died," Caine clarified, pointing. "I shot it right through his upper shoulder." He didn't know why he was sharing this - perhaps some sort of instinctual brotherly love still remained in his twisted heart and made him say it to cheer Sam up. He had a rather sick way of doing it though.

"I see," was all his brother said, kind of sick himself. "Leave me," he then ordered, the authority in his voice sounding like that of a teacher's. Caine would've never listened to anyone when they took that tone with him and there were no benefits, especially if they were a townie (or _had_ been; he wasn't sure what Sam considered himself after that speech), but there was something in Sam's tone that told him to comply.

"Alright," Caine replied quietly, respecting his fallen brother's wish, turning around and walking back to the car. What Sam did now was his business and his business only - although curious, Caine knew better than to ask.

As soon as his brother was out of hearing range, Sam tried to speak.

Several minutes passed before he managed to say anything.

"…Wow," he said, shoving his hands down his pockets, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't honestly know what to say, Merwin. You're fucking _dead_. Been for quite a while now. Just like me. Only difference is, your corpse is rotting underground while mine is still trapped in this shell, rotting underneath my very flesh. I…"

Sam bent his head forward, fingers gripping on the seat of the wheelchair. "I need to keep on fighting. When it's all over I'll press a gun to my head and pull the trigger. I'm a soldier. You're right. That's all I am, at least that's what I am thank to you 'cos you massacred the rest, I'm afraid." He took a shaky breath.

"Though I- …I miss you. Sometimes, I really do. Then I remember what you did and I want to dig you up and rip your heart out and then dig you back underground but still… Sometimes, I miss you too much to bear. I wish it hadn't happened, but I guess it was unavoidable… I loved you, Merwin, but not anymore. I couldn't, _can't_, not after what you did to me. You knew I was fucking fragile, you bastard. You knew I'd break. Only reason I'm able to do this is not because time heals all wounds, but 'cos time fills in the cracks of a gaping wound, allowing me to stand here today without crying like a little bitch."

He sighed. "You were right though, as I was saying. I am much like a pet. But it's alright," he mumbled, "I help people avoid the same fate that I had. Death. It's become easier now - when I'm not being a soldier, I sleep, I don't think, I just sleep. Not that you care, you're just a mangled corpse," Sam allowed himself a few chuckles.

The warmth would've bothered him if he was fully alive. However, now he didn't feel like it, not feel like it at all, and he brushed it away as small human bothers. Whatever didn't kill him physically was alright. Mentally he was about as dead as Drake.

"But… What I really wanted to say Merwin… It could've never have worked out. In another time line, in another world, maybe, but not in the FAYZ. Our fragile system couldn't bear our dangerous relationship, especially not when we were becoming attached to each other. If there's a god out there, I betcha he's responsible."

Sam didn't even think what Astrid would've have to say about that, he didn't even think about her in general. This was between him and Drake.

"When we first rebelled against the system, we rebelled big, didn't we? Crossed sides and ignored priorities and orders for _each other _when in reality I think anyone on our team would've complied - and you'd made them - if we said we wanted to have a good lay. But only I was good enough for you, and you were only good 'nuff for me, yeah? It's kinda cute… In a fucked up way."

"Our little fairytale was doomed from the start, lover of mine, too dark for this tiny world."

Then he smirked.

"But from one sinner to another, we'll be reunited in Hell."


	34. Draken

**Disclaimer:** Way too bad grammar.

**Rated:** MA

**Beta: **DreamCatcher96

**Warning:** Phonesex

**Type: **Challenge

**Genre: **Romance

**Pairing:** Dram

**Summary:** Long distance relationships suck. But the boys will find a way...

**Words: **1'572

**A/N:** One of the challenges from the Gone Challenges forum was to do a crack pairing. Since that's my speciality, I picked that one because I'm secretly a masochist. Silly little grapefruit, this is.

'Draken' means 'the dragon' in Norwegian.

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**Draken**

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Sam appreciated his relationship with Drake even if it was dysfunctional. They fought and they fucked, and they hated and loved. It was how it had been since they'd graduated, finally giving up trying other more stable relationships (or in Drake's case, 'dating rich women your mom likes') and started going at it again.

No one else were good enough, it seemed.

Sam's friends disagreed with the relationship, but it wasn't much they could do since Sam was miserable without his dragon. Little did they know that Drake was pretty fucking miserable too without his little hero to kick around (and to be kicked back into behaving like an actual person), so there wasn't much stopping them.

They shared an apartment in New York at the time, balancing studies and part-time jobs. Drake had gone abroad for a year to learn a foreign language or two or something - Sam couldn't recall the details - leaving Sam alone in the big city. It wasn't too bad, since Drake did come home during vacations and would return to the US next fall, but that didn't stop Sam from missing the stupid sadist.

Not that he showed it, though.

"Merwin," Sam answered after he'd grabbed the phone with such force that it might've broken in half if he'd pushed some more, "Don't call me when it's fucking three in the morning." He yawned, clumsily clicking on a light in the tiny bedroom he'd once shared with his boyfriend.

The other end of the line went silent for a few moments.

_"I have school tomorrow, and when I'm home, I'm either sleeping or eating leftovers. Had to call you now to make sure you haven't turned into a corpse or something, I won't have your dead stink all over my movie collection. Nice of you to send me food, anyway. You're such a woman Temple."_

"You'd starve otherwise, dickhead," Sam muttered and rubbed sleep out of his eyes. He had missed hearing Drake's snappish voice, if not only a little bit. He was also secretly glad Drake was at least eating.

Everything the guy touched in the kitchen became fireworks, and he was way too poor to eat out everyday. So Sam sent huge boxes of emergency ration - soup cans, frozen dinners and some extra food coupons he'd gotten over the internet - in the mail once a month. Drake probably looked like a weirdo carrying it from the post office, but he deserved it after making Sam go through all that trouble.

_"True. But it's sweet that you care."_

Sam just grumbled, hearing the laughter in the other's voice. He sighed, smiling a bit. Drake was such a dickhead_._ "Whatever. So how's Europe?"

_"Wonderful. Lotsa nice chicks."_

"You don't even like women," Sam drawled.

_"Just trying to make ya jealous, love."_

"Fuck you."

_"Wish I could."_

There was a small pause between them. No 'I miss you's or any of that kind, but Drake had just confirmed something that made Sam happy and sad at the same time. God, how he wished Drake was here so he could punch him whenever he acted like a jerk and made butterflies appear in Sam's stomach.

That was the good old days.

"Yeah. Alright. No sappy bullshit, alright?" Sam tried hard to ignore the way his own voice broke at the end. "You'll have enough time for that when you come back home."

A pause. _"Yeah. You're right, that's not like us, it is?"_

"No, it isn't." Sam sighed again. "Why did you call again? Don't try tell me that it's 'cos you missed my voice or something horribly cliché like that. I have work tomorrow, not in the mood for talking."

_"Calm down, Sammy. Wanted to make sure you didn't dump me. We haven't spoken since, like, last week, and that didn't end on a positive note."_

"That's 'cos you were acting like a dick."

_"Not gonna disagree with you on that one, although I had my reasons_." A doubtful silence form Sam's part followed. Back in the European apartment he was staying at, Drake threw his arms up in frustration_. "Look, I've been really frustrated alright? Nothing to fuck around here."_

"What about the chicks? They're around."

_"True that. But you're not around, are ya? So I'm all alone. I don't want them, I want you, screaming and moaning beneath me."_Drake closed his eyes hard. Old instincts didn't like how he delivered his weaknesses out like that - it went against all that he'd taught himself over the years to not rely on everybody. But for Christ's sake, Sammy was his damned boyfriend! Any bastard who held out with Drake deserved a little information. Not much. Drake was still Drake. _"I want you, Temple, not some French chick. Not anyone."_

Sam felt flattered. He shouldn't have, but he did. But he refused to show it, dammit. "No. Hope you haven't developed amnesia, 'cos I'm not around when you fall out a window or something 'cos you believed you could fly."

Drake's eyes darted around in his apartment for something to keep his attention at, growing bored off Sam's continuous defence insults. It was obvious that Drake's attachment to him made him wary, because he hadn't experienced that before. But then again, none of them had ever countered on being in a long distance relationship either. So it was out of pure randomness that Drake blurted out with _"...What are you wearing?"_

Another one of those pauses. Shit, this was going to be a huge phone bill. "...What?"

_"Ah, shit Temple, try get it."_

"You're trying to... Oh god Merwin. Phonesex? Really? Well if that's the case I'm wearing pajamas, because it's still night, and only reason I'm up at this hour is because my idiotic boyfriend called me three o'clock in the morning 'cos he can't keep his dick in his pants without bothering others."

_"Temple."_

"What?"

_"Whatcha wearing underneath the fucking pajamas?"_

"...Nothing."

_"I like that image much better, thank you. Strip."_

"You're not even here."

_"Don't matter. Just do it."_

"You're such a freak, Merwin." Yet he could hear Sam shifting in his bed, obviously taking off whatever he'd been wearing. Drake waited a moment until Sam was finished.

_"Right. Now you wrap your fingers around you dick-"_

"Wait what. Look, I can get naked for you so you can used your twisted imagination to... to... whatever the hell you do, but I won't... won't touch myself."

_"Oh? You had no qualms doing it when I was around. I clearly remember you... a desk... and-"_

"What I'm saying is it's really humiliating." His member hang slack between his legs, and even if there was no one there to see, he still felt humiliation powder fresh red across his face.

_"You're blushing."_

"I'm not."

Drake laughed. _"Ah, you're such a comedian."_

"Fuck you."

_"Whatever. Start running your fingers over yourself."_

"No."

_"Yes."_

"I'm not doing it."

_"You will. Imagine it's my hand."_

A pause. Then a grunt.

_"Good boy."_ He patiently waited until he could hear the smallest of moans escape Sam. He then smirked, leaning back into his chair comfortingly. He looked around, making sure there was no one around before continuing. _"Hard? Good. Imagine I'm teasin' ya, touching your head, etcetera..."_

"Hmgf... _Drake_..." Sam was getting into it now.

_"That's good... Now move downwards. Finger yourself."_

Sam hissed and grabbed a bottle of lube, covering his fingers in the material before entering himself. Knowing how he liked it after countless exploration trips with the guy at the other end of the line, it didn't take long before he rubbed one against his prostate. God, he saw stars.

"D-Drake..."

"Shit Sammy, don't make me take a flight over there and come finish the job... Keep going..."

Sam arched backwards, stroking himself with one hand and fucking himself with the other. He kept his movements steady while Drake whispered dirty things that made him want to cum even harder. It was such a humiliating position, but the pleasure overrode all else.

_"Wish you were here and I would give you a well-deserved second round... Then I'll probably one foot to the side of the bed and the other to the other side, forcing you to keep your legs apart while I screwed you senseless..."_

"You're d-disgusting, Merwin."

_"You like it, Temple. Now speed up."_

Sam did as told, letting out frustrated snarls and hisses in the process. He could almost hear the corner of Drake's mouth quirk upwards. "Ah... _Merwin_..." He spilled himself then over a fantasy of Drake leaning over him, smirking that damned smirk, watching him in his most vulnerable state.

He reached orgasm with a cry, one that made Drake struggle not to lose it. Sam breathed hard, falling back into the bed and sneaking back beneath the covers. Tiredness washed over him and he smirked a little, hair a tiny bit damp. "Good 'nuff, Drakie?"

_"Well. That sure didn't last long. Not as long as we manage to drag it out anyway. I guess you miss me a lot, Temple." _

"You're such an asshole."

_"We're the same, then,"_ Drake replied with a laugh.

Sam shook his head, but couldn't help but smirk. Even with seas between them, Drake was still his, and he was still Drake's. It was only fair, because no one else was good enough, and Drake was Sam's personal demon. His damn monster.

His _dragon_.


	35. Ash

**Disclaimer: **Atchair does most certainly not own GONE™, the book series belong to Michael Grant and HarperCollins and this amateur author isn't making any cash of this. All other material (songs, themes, quotes) belongs to their rightful owners. But the plot belongs to me and if you try stealing it I'll eat your firstborn.

**Rated:** T

**Beta: **DreamCatcher96

**Warning:** Mentions of the sexual nature

**Type: **Unfinished story

**Genre: **Tragedy, adventure

**Pairing:** Caina established relationship

**Summary:** Post-LIES, ignoring PLAGUE. Caine and Diana returns to Perdido Beach and a ghost town awaits them. Finding an abandoned hero and seeking a bitter villain the king and his queen decides to end the ones who did it.

**Words:** 1'581

**A/N: **Written before PLAGUE. This means no illnesses, no pregnancy, no lack of fresh water and no flesh-eating bugs. Don't be complaining about OOCness; I honestly thought Caine and Diana were gonna sort it out and that he would regain some of his narcissism (fucking love narcissistic!Caine) and sophisticated leader skills. And I thought Penny died. Meh.

Sequel to _Never Land_.

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**Ash**

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_"It is surmounting difficulties that makes heroes"_

_-_Louis Kossuth

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It had begun.

It was an observation from_ her_, or _his_, or _its_, point of view. There were nothing indicating the actual occurrence, but now, in this very moment, the creature became idly aware that the happening Nerezza had been waiting for was _actually_ happening.

The Gaiaphage, now mostly referred to as Nerezza, could smell, taste and feel it. The sensation of _knowing_ came in the salt air brought in with the warm breeze.

"And it will end!" _she_, or _he_, or _it_, promised in a hitch-pitched scream into the quiet night, receiving no answer whatsoever from humans considered mere property. Neon-green eyes glowered with happiness. Wonderful. That was how it was desired - people had learned their place, it seemed.

However, somewhere far, far, far away from where the smug creature gazed out over _her_, or _his_, or _its_ kingdom, a true king was scowling and a queen was frowning, a hero was crying and a villain was dying.

Finally.

It had begun, and would end rather quickly.

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Caine's eyebrows were furrowed into a semi-permanent scowl, indicating that he did not want to get disturbed at all. He was wandering in the land of thinking, stuck in a jungle of thoughts - ghosts of our inner emotions. He was too deep into it to notice anything around him at that very moment.

Leaning back on the swivel chair, he sighed as it made a barely-audible _squiiii~ _noise, and thought that '_I really need to fix that,'_ however, soon it was all forgotten again, mind returning back to the more important matter.

He had been two and a half month, he reminded himself, on a godforsaken island almost without human contact. Of course, he still had Diana. That was important too. Caine observed the weather, sitting in his (what he liked to consider _his_ anyway) big office with his arms crossed, and gazing out the three-meter long window that reached above his own head, but attention elsewhere.

"It's been quite a while since we left the mainland," Diana stated, voicing what he dwelled on and breaking him out of it. For how long she had been standing there was a mystery - he hadn't noticed her until now. Then she strolled over to him and sat down on the desk, blocking his view of the window. Not that he minded - she was a view herself, especially when one was a sexually repressed fifteen-year-old.

'_Well, not so sexually repressed anymore,'_ Caine thought and had a moment of evil overlord laughter.

When recovering from what Diana had nicknamed as his 'mad moments', Caine looked at her with some levels of interest. Neither said anything for a while, just looking at each other, Caine smirking in a typical I-know-something-you-don't manner until both Diana's eyebrows shot up in mild surprise. Wasn't he going to say something, at least?

Diana had a tad longer hair now, reaching down to her neck, but still insisting on keeping it quite short. Not military-style, but short enough to not blow into her face if she went out in the wind. He still considered her pretty though.

"Caine," she breathed, waking him up from his musings.

"Hm~?"

"You should eat something. I saw your breakfast untouched, and Bug was about to devour it."

"_Devour_ it?"

"I've seen _eating_. What Bug does is not _eating_."

"I see." He closed his eyes.

Diana wondered why she had come here in the first place, because he did not seem in the talking kind of mood. She sighed and jumped off the desk. "It's still dark outside. Why so early? You usually sleep longer than this." They did not speak much of their relationship, but he was well aware that she cared for him. He'd gotten accustomed to it, the way she downright expected him to tell her what bothered him, and truth to be told, it made his already gigantic ego grow just a tad.

"It's been two and a half months, Diana, and there are so many questions left unanswered. Are they still alive? Did The Human Crew manage to take over Perdido Beach? How many kids died? Have any new dangers erupted? Have someone killed that freak hater Zil yet? What about-" Diana cut his ramblings off with pressing a firm finger against his lips without much pressure, but silencing him when she made a small _shh_-noise. He was about to start talking again when she kissed him confidently, though pulling away before he could deepen the kiss.

"You talk too much. And besides, it's none of our business. We left, remember?"

"I know," Caine said, closing his eyes. "But I cannot help it; not really. I want to know Diana, I hunger for information. Sitting here in this very chair makes me feel so old, so useless, so pathetic. I must know, Diana, I _must_."

From that moment on she knew she had lost him.

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"This is something I need to do Diana." His voice was soft; crooning even, as to relax the doubtful female standing right beside him.

The light from the sunrise shone down on both of them, causing Caine to seem very there he stood at the end of the cliff with a smile that made Diana understand that there weren't use trying to convert him to believe something else. He had decided with the matter and was not going to back down from it.

He'd made a boat – oh yes, and the two of them had gone through every little detail like it was a military operation instead of an innocent trip because of Caine's damn curiosity which longed to revive information. Somewhat like a flesh-starved dog. He stood there now, one hand extended to help her go with him.

It was in this moment that Diana began regretting her choice of joining him. It wasn't as if she did not want it – she'd promised herself to take good care of her 'boyfriend' (she still had problems uttering that particular word, preferring the term partner) – but she didn't want to die. Caine had openly stated that "Yes, there's a good chance for our downfall" because of those murderous children in Perdido Beach. They believed both Caine and Diana were the reason for the Great Fire, much to both the fifteen year-olds' dismay.

She eyed her king with a frown. Again she was slightly taken aback by his majestic form there he stood with a confident smile and his hand reached out as an invitation for her to join him.

Diana hesitated.

Caine's smile faltered, but was replaced with a much softer one afterwards, with the gentle emotion he only showed her and only her. "I understand," he murmured, the breeze blowing his dark amethyst hair towards the west making him more king-like that usual. The hand disappeared, gently falling down by his side as he'd accepted defeat.

It smelled like the salt-water surrounding them, and Diana swore that she could taste the salt in the air. All this happens in less than a second, and quickly without thinking clearly over her actions, she'd grabbed his hand and brought it to her skin. She leaned into it, Caine watching with a waiting expression, before she'd sighed and planted a kiss on his hand's bare skin. She'd guessed right, he did taste like salt just like everything around the lonely island.

"Caine." His name came as a wince.

"Yes?" he responded in his typical calm and quiet demeanor. He then brushed a few hair strands away from his face, revealing his eyes which were watching her rather intensely.

"I'll come with you." With that statement, he immediately grabbed her hand – as if he were afraid she'd reconsider her choice – and took her against the new boat Caine had planted safely and surely on the ocean. He was stronger now. With all those days at the island, he hadn't just sat there and looked for answers for his questions. No, he'd _trained_. The powers didn't become extremely stronger, but he was more used to controlling them now. Diana was certain she'd seen some changes in how fluidly his motions were whether he used his invisible hands to move things with a flick of a finger.

"Do we have everything we need?" Her voice was quiet, and he had to restrain himself to hear the whole sentence.

"Food enough for two weeks," Caine smirked playfully and winked charmingly at her. "It's a good thing I calculated enough food for both of us." He'd expected, no, he'd _known _that she'd join him on his quest. Yet his expression had faltered when she nearly had refused him.

Diana hoped that the first thing that met them wasn't a furious mob of starving kids. Then the food Caine had for them both would disappear in a blink of an eye. Anticipated along with their very lives as well, there were no guaranty that such wanted individuals as the two of them would live trough such an experience. The couple was still seen as the bad guys for this situation and Caine had long since suggested that the kids must've thought it was they who set fire to the town.

She took a deep breath.

And then they went up, unaware of the horrors on the other side of the oceans.

Unaware how Perdido Beach had fallen and the Human Crew had taken over, and how Caine's brother was reduced to nothing but a shell of himself.


	36. Fairy Tale Dust

**Disclaimer: **Borrowing material from Michael Grant and HarperCollins or whatever.

**Rating: **T

**Warning: **Language, hinted character death(s) ?

**Beta: **DreamCatcher96

**Type: **Unfinished story

**Genre:** Adventure, suspesnse, sorta Dystopian science fiction

**Pairing:** None here

**Summary: **AUish, set after HUNGER. Sam vanishes in thin air after the uranium factory explodes, only to return seven years later to a FAYZ he did not expect. The line between good and evil is blurred out and friends are no longer friends and old enemies become prove useful allies.

**Word count:** 2'219

**A/N: **STOP! Take your HUNGER book. Go to the page where Caine is about to kill Drake. Pause. Continue reading.

Though this is discontinued, for all interns.

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**Fairy Tale Dust **

**Chapter one: **

**Fairy Cold **

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_Peter: "Forget them, Wendy. Forget them all. Come with me where you'll never, never have to worry about grown up things again."  
>Wendy: "Never is an awfully long time." <em>

-Peter Pan

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In the moment where a pole would've pierced right through Drake's shoulder, Caine halted mid-movement, stopping the murder.

It wasn't some second thought that made him realize how morally wrong murdering a former ally would be, or some misplaced sense of justice that made him realize that death was not a proper punishment for the sadistic child-murderer. Nor was it a sense of thankfulness (Drake _had_ kept the majority Coates alive with his stealing townie food scheme) or the companionship they had, rotting and starving together for so long.

No, none of that. Caine was furious at Drake for hurting Diana at such a bad time, not thinking about how blood lust was still pumping in the sadist's veins after his little session with his favorite nemesis, Temple.

It was one single scream - a shout that would tear the black and white view of good and evil forever.

_"The power plant is about to explode!"_

For once, Astrid had proved herself useful.

Both Caine's eyebrows shot up, but his hand stayed reached out, keeping the pole dangerously close to Drake. The sadist swallowed thickly, refraining from saying anything in case it got him killed.

"...And why should I care, Ellison?"

"Your brother is in there! Is there not any sense of brotherhood between you and him? You did shared the same womb and the same m-"

"We never shared anything but annoyance," Caine interrupted, darkening, reminding Astrid that this was one of the more sensitive of topics. "Or anything else, for that matter. Connie Temple stopped being my mother the second she disowned me and kept Sam instead. Now go. I have an execution to finish..."

"Wait!"

Of all people, it was Astrid Ellison who came to Drake's rescue. But several oddities had happened that fateful day, and even more would come.

"You need to help us Caine! Someone pushed the red button! Complete meltdown! Don't you get it? It means total destruction of the entire FAYZ!"

Caine blinked.

Well, _hell_.

"Who fucking touched the red button?" Drake whispered, seething. Was Sam aching for him to finish the job?

Diana heard, and her lips became a thin line.

Caine too looked grim.

There was no time to waste. Not even killing Drake would seem appropriate - if they did not move, they'd all get blown into pieces.

"Let's go."

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The situation could be described with no other two words than pure chaos.

Crying out in agonizing torture that Brianna decided could've been done by no one other than a god of pain set out to end her existence among the living, assuring Itself of her grand demise. That was what she managed to think before screaming again anyway, cursing herself for her arrogance and stupidity when she'd run through the power plant without thinking properly. Now a line of green material consisting of God-knows-what was sprayed across her ankle, burning through flesh with the same sound grilling bacon made.

Loud noises, bright multi-coloured lights, madness; it all erupted around her.

Accompanied by the screaming red alarm, it couldn't be a much worse way to die.

Children and freaks alike had partaken in the crazed task to prevent the power plant from blowing up. Now, the horrifying realization that their mission had failed and that they all would get burnt to death if they didn't get away in time had dawned upon them, and most hurried away, screaming, without a second thought of those left by—even if they knew they'd end up as human barbecue no matter how far they got.

Humans are like rats; when it comes to survival, they will to anything to climb, claw, bite and kill themselves to the top. Not each one and every though.

Sam Temple pushed the last remaining helper out of the big metal building, signalizing to Edilio to move the very-willing troops out of the area. Knowing that 'companionship's gone - save yourselves!' applied for many to this situation, he tried to help as many as he could, even if being violent. He growled in rage as a little girl started crying because of the chaos - who the hell took four-year-olds with them here?

To his surprise Caine Soren took a hold of her, still giving him an arrogant glare as they passed each other. The gang left at Coates had agreed to help them try prevent the catastrophe with one thought only; their own 'important' (at least in their own self-centered eyes) asses. But Sam just nodded in thanks, finally rushing over to help the fallen Breeze.

"What took you so fucking long?" she demanded in a trembling shout, turning paler by each passing moment. No, her whole body trembled.

"Tryin' to save people," Sam replied bitterly, then frowning as he noticed how she'd been hurt. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to yell." Sam reached out to grab the material, and suddenly an unexpected voice denied him it.

"Stop! Your fingers get'll burnt off if you as much as come near it," Diana informed in a shout, voice nearly drowned out by the alarm. She took a hold of Sam's shoulder with clear impatience, trying to drag him away. The little respect she held for him made her do this, no doubt. He was the reason the townies didn't murder the silver trio when in punishment for their actions.

But, again... Sam was a hero. Heroes don't abandon their comrades, even in losing battles. Diana, however, was not - she was a realist, and knew that if they didn't get away, they'd die within minutes.

"She can't be saved," Diana said in that dry way of hers. "Once the radioactive liquid touches flesh it'll burn through it until it devours everything."

"How can you-"

"I saw it." Diana's lips were in a firm, thin line; a thing she did when everything seemed lost.

Sam felt helplessness wash over him, trying in vain to reach out to help, but his survival instinct wouldn't let him.

Brianna gave him a look of betrayal, continually screaming at him to help her, not caring that he could do nothing in her current state. The pain drove her mad. Sam shrunk with each vile accusation of him being evil and heartless, the words obviously killing him.

Gritting her teeth together and muttering a "Shut up!" which could right through the stream of misplaced sentences, Diana grabbed Sam's arm and tried to get him to move.

But it took no more than a few seconds for the understanding to dawn upon her; Sam was not leaving his friend, no matter what.

"Damned hero," she snarled, thereafter looking at Caine, who was waving his arms like a retarded penguin shouting at her to hurry up unless she wanted to die. Although he tried to hide it behind coarse language, she could still hear genuine concern in his voice - he wouldn't leave without her. "Damned king."

When she returned her half-glare back to Sam, he gently spoke, "I'm sorry. I can't come with you. Go without you."

Grunting in an unfeminine response, she started to run, never looking back. She was no savior. No friend of Sam either, but she did not consider him her enemy.

"So long, Temple."

Sam wrapped his arms around Brianna, trying to keep her melting feet away from his own body. Her eyes were shut tightly in what were beyond pain. The realization of her demise had been comprehended, but not accepted. She still fought, in her own method of survival, or greed for life.

Even if her legs was soon gone.

"Don't leave."

"I won't," Sam breathed heavily. The orchestra of noises sounded like a class full of mentally disabled kids. The stink of death and blood had long since been washed away, only the shrieking alarm, warning of explosions of despair. "I won't," Sam repeated, trembling, enjoying the second of silence before a new alarm.

Then the power plant exploded.

Sam drew his fingers over his eyes, hiding them, unaware that Brianna was too slow to cover herself and was blinded by the incredible light.

A hot wind washed over them, and Sam felt as if it would rip the skin of his face.

"A breeze," Brianna mumbled as a cloud of dust moved towards them, all-consuming, almost 'reaching' out for them. She couldn't see it though, pupils darting wildly around, unaware how close death was now. The green shit was were her lower thigh, still devouring itself higher up.

Sam looked positively lost, yet still bent over Brianna to assure her that he wasn't planning on leaving. She started hyperventilating once the wall of dust hit them and engulfed both of them, swallowing them whole.

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"Mother?"

It is dark.

"Mom!"

He cannot see. He cannot hear. He cannot feel, yet he lives on. There is only silence, and darkness, and night. Is he in Heaven? Is he in Hell? Limbo seems more appropriate, because there is nothing. Even as he screams, helpless, time not existing in this tiny space, there is no one there to hear. Not even himself.

_"Mommy!" _

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Sam **fought**.

Underneath masses of mud, dirt and general shit he clawed his way upwards, or sideways, or anywhere that led him to freedom.

It filled his eyes, his mouth, his nose, and all he saw was darkness.

He had no idea when it all had started, but when he'd come to his senses he'd automatically started to fight his way back to whatever surface he could find. Though Sam was beginning to run short on air, and his movements slowed down, exhaustion evident.

At a last kick, he tumbled forward, light momentarily blinding him for a moment. His breath came in peeping sounds, lungs feeling like they'd burst anytime. Everything hurt. His muscles ached, bones creaking, head thundering. He didn't know how long he'd laid there, gasping for air, bloodied and dirty. Like a newborn, his eyes wouldn't adjust properly to the light before many minutes, and when he could see there were nothing but blue sky above him.

Blue?

Yes... Yes, he remembered that colour. It was the colour of his eyes, wasn't it? Dark blue, like in the twilight. Sam struggled, but he did remember what came after twilight. Dark. Sam didn't like the dark, he remembered that perfectly well. But he couldn't move. Just... Just couldn't move.

Eternities later, he swore he heard voices. Far, far away... Sam became aware he was slipping away, and tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were so heavy...

"-s dead?"

"Not quite sure."

"Whatever, he'll be soon anyway. Probably from _their_ team, left here to rot."

Sam managed to whisper. His throat felt raw and tortured, but he managed to whisper, barely, "H-Help-!"

"Oh god. It's alive." Drake didn't sound surprised; more curious.

The unfamiliar yet familiar face of Caine Soren stared back at him, eyes as wide as his own.

"Sam?" he breathed.

After a moment of shock - when did his brother become that big? - Sam managed to crawl up a little so that he could look up at them. It was dark outside, but Caine still looked... older, somehow. The other, however, decided to ruin it. "That can't be Sammy, Soren. Sammy's blown to pieces."

"I-I'm alive," Sam stammered quietly, falling back into the dirt. Moving his limbs took way too much energy.

"Only one way to make sure of that," Drake said, showing teeth, grabbing his collar and holding it up after it. Sam panicked when Drake started removing his shirt, swinging his fist so it Drake right in the nose. But crazily enough, the sadist just laughed as he caught "Oh I've missed _you_."

"Go on with whatever you want to prove, Merwin," Caine said from somewhere else.

Far, far... Everything was always beyond Sam's reach. He had no chance doing anymore damage because Drake actually _listened_ to Caine and struck him across the head. Dizziness took over and Sam's eyes rolled back into his head, drawing him back into himself. It allowed Drake to work nice and easy, but of course Drake wasn't going to do that, because Drake _wasn't_ nice and easy. So his shirt was torn right off his shoulders, and fresh air made him shiver. Sam's face heated up from humiliation as Caine saw the whipping marks all over it. Drake grinned and wiped away blood from his nose, smearing it out across his cheek. "Yup, that's Sammy for sure."

Sam wrestled against Drake's hold - when had he become that strong? - but didn't get loose until he actually let him go, making him fall into the dirt. "Lemme' go," Sam panted, head down of tire. So much dirt...

Ignoring his words, Caine bent down, poking him. "How old are you?"

"We're twins," Sam said, looking confused. Caine's eyes became half-lidded and he slapped Sam, hard.

"I asked you a question, brother dearest. Answer it."

"But-" Caine raised his arm, and Sam quieted down immediately. The slap had hurt, and added another mark to the collection of wound. "I-I'm fifteen."

"Just as I feared," Caine mumbled, standing up to his full height. He shared a look with Drake, who seemed thoughtful, even if he was scowling.

"What is it?"

"You see, Sam, I'm twenty-two," Caine said seriously. "You've been gone for seven years... until today."


	37. Dram Collection!

**Disclaimer:** Gone™ is not mine.

**A/N:** Basically all the drabbles I never finished. Some are even from 2010, although with slight retouches. This is Dram, in all forms, enemies or lovers or slave and master. Don't like don't read. Beta'd by **DreamCatcher96**!

Extra warning for **_Eyes_**: it includes some pretty sick themes.

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**_Monster_**

"Is he... Is he taking over again?"

"No," Sam breathed, shifting uncomfortably there he stood at the middle of the room under the gazes of everyone. "He's not."

"Why the hell did you do this?" It was Howard, asking the question no one dared to ask though everybody wanted to.

"It tortured Brittney." In Sam's voice, there was a desperate edge. "The Darkness... It wouldn't let me kill her either way, it just hurt her, hurt her mind with..." Sam swallowed dryly, the memory making him crawl deep back into himself, hiding his emotions. "I saw it. Heard it. It was terrible. The Gaiaphage offered a deal after what felt like hours with her... with her screaming. It came into my head," Sam pointed there, "And I accepted it."

"_Why_?" Astrid, this time, stepping forward. Sam could not reply to that one, merely looking sad. Blue eyes were downcast, avoiding hers. He couldn't answer because he had none - it had been a spur of the moment decision, and it was only when he heard the Gaiaphage's laughter roaming in his head that he understood what he'd lost. But he hadn't managed it; bit back his screams when all alone in that cave.

"Do you know how to keep him from taking over?" Edilio asked quietly when he was sure Sam wouldn't answer Astrid.

Suddenly there was a pause.

Sam looked up. And when he did, his eyes had gone from blue to silver. A sadistic grin manifested itself on Sam's lips, far too evil to belong to the real thing.

"He doesn't."

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_**Repayment**_

Cold, steely fingers at his chest.

Oh how much did Sam not wish it would be someone else when he turned, someone to tell him that it was alright and that this nightmare was over. Because for most FAYZ kids, the nightmare and the plague was now over and Drake gone. _Supposedly_.

No.

Drake Merwin himself stood there, smirking at him, the tentacle soon around Sam's throat. It caressed him, causing Sam's breakfast to threaten to come up - he wanted nothing to do with that thing. He knew Drake was enamored with him - it was what he'd told Sam the day they'd made this fatal deal. Drake would cease to kill Sam's friends if the opportunity came up, and Sam would give whatever Drake wanted except his life. That had been the terms of their deal.

"Do you know why I'm here, Temple?"

Sam paused.

"You want your repayment."

"_Exactly_. And what do I want as repayment?"

"Me. You want me."

Drake smirked, and the tentacle's hold tightened. "Good boy."

"...Like last time."

"Much like last time, but this is a bit different, love." Sam shuddered with the nickname - it was weird and disturbing on Drake's tongue. "This time, I won't only torture you physically but..." Drake leant down to Sam's ear, "mentally as well." This sent a new wave of cold down Sam's spine.

"You're cruel."

"Of course," Drake replied with a smile.

"I hate you."

"Not as much as you will after what I've done to you. You see, mental pain isn't really harder to achieve than physical pain if you know what to do. And I certainly know what to do, Sammy-boy."

It wasn't until Drake's hand firmly grasped his ass that his eyes became wide and he choked on air and he realized it.

"You wouldn't..."

"Oh but I _will_, Sammy." His tone became several notches brighter as he spoke next, but Sam didn't miss the terribly meaning, "What a lovely spot this is, wouldn't you agree? On a mountain hill, in front of the entire town. What a spot to fuck you on, yeah? If someone turns a head in the right direction, your naked bloodied body will be exposed to 'em. Wouldn't that be something, huh? Hero of the FAYZ indulging in a secretive fuck-buddy relationship with the child murdering mass murderer Merwin."

"_What_? S-Stop-!"

"Oh no Sammy, that wasn't part of our deal." No matter how he fought it was fruitless; Drake still held him close, choking him whenever he moved.

It wasn't until Drake's hysterical cackles had died down that Sam could muster up some courage to reply.

"Just... Just get it over with."

His voice was far too small than what he would've liked.

"Whatever the princess wants," Drake said, leering a bit, but the smirk returned with the gasp Sam made once his pants fell to his ankles.

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_**Bitterflies**_

"Please consider it, at least."

Hunter shifted uncomfortably. Asking to join someone like him wasn't usual, was it? Twice, even. Had Sam Temple maybe suffered from some kind of damage to his head, like Hunter himself? He couldn't remember clearly what exactly happened, it was all a blurred mess of emotions and regret and guilt. Hunter was a murderer, Sam was not. Hunter blinked a bit, becoming sure again. It wouldn't work.

"Doesn't work like 'dat," he said, shaking his head. "Sam's the hero, remember? Hunter's just the hunter."

And the murderer.

"You're not 'just' the hunter," Sam said quietly. "You're a hero too. You keep us from starving, not demanding much yourself. I... I want to be able to do that too, be able to protect without... without killing people."

Hunter frowned. Sam was a murderer too? How odd, weren't heroes supposed to save? Or could they kill too, if that meant saving others? It all was a little too much for Hunter, and he blacked out for a bit, struggling to think again.

It was hard to see that Sam was still Sam. The only thing that didn't make Hunter deny it was the blue almost black eyes - no one quite had that colour. His appearance, however, had changed drastically. Hunter hadn't noted much of it from the time when they'd share a fire, Sam spilling a lot of information that he couldn't really make sense from, but now, it was painfully obvious. Dark circles under his eyes, cheekbones sunken in, eyes dark, unnaturally pale, dirty clothes, the list went on. Heroes shouldn't look that way.

"...Are you sure that you want to live like this?"

He gestured to the forest, to the unknown, to the dark.

Sam seemed to hesitate for a moment, but his answer was firm. "Yes. Yes, I want to stay."

"It is hard at first. And scary. And hard," Hunter repeated, not sure if he'd said it.

"I know."

"Sometimes we can go days without food. Sometimes I fall and get hurt. Som-"

"It's okay, Hunter. I knew that when I first came here." Sam held up a small bag with some of his most precious possessions and some clothes. "I wasn't planning on letting you turn me down. I need this. If not for a little while. I'll earn my keep, I swear it, and I won't be an annoyance to you. You'll be my teacher, and I'm not sure I can stay forever, if another battle occurs. I... I need this, Hunter, please." Like a warrior of some kind, he went on his knees.

Hunter's eyes widened, but he said nothing for a moment. It was a hard decision, but Sam seemed genuinely lost. He'd probably go back to doing hero stuff after a while. Hunter knew people didn't like him that much, probably since he was a freak and a murderer.

"Then Sam can stay, only for a little while."

That was how it had begun.

It took some time getting used to yes, sleeping under the stars, ignoring all the sounds that came from all around them, only to wake up to crawl around in the mud all day. But it wasn't like Sam hated it - it was a different sense of freedom. The two didn't speak much, Sam only listening to Hunter's fragmented explanation on how he went through with things, trying his best to absorb all of it.

When he caught his first deer (with some help from Hunter, of course) he was insanely proud. He'd fried the deer's skull, killing it in an instant. It was only later that night they discovered that Sam's hands were good for barbecuing meat as well as making fires. They didn't eat all of it, but the meals they did allow themselves to eat tasted better than ever. Most went straight back to town though.

Sam never joined Hunter's trips to Perdido Beach - his friends hadn't taken kindly to the knowledge of what he wanted. They also didn't know that he'd actually went through with it, and Sam hoped it would stay that way.

Hunter never mentioned it.

Sam didn't really think much. He had enough sneaking after Hunter on all fours, learning how to listen to the nature, being on guard at all times. When he reached one of their many camps, he was dead asleep before he hit the ground. Some nights, when terror gripped the edges of his mind often after a bad hunting, he'd curl up to Hunter, who somehow offered some sort of protection in his mind. The other boy never mentioned anything about that either, and although he disabled mentally, he understood that the sensitive subject wasn't something to be brought up between them.

Days passed.

It wasn't before Sam woke in the middle of a night that the trouble started. He hadn't been sleeping very deeply, since it was a very early morning. Normally he'd been exhausted at this hour, but Hunter had nearly been bitten by a snake and needed to rest, meaning setting up the camp early.

A branch snapped near Sam. His trained instincts warned that it may be an animal, maybe a dangerous one. Therefore he sat up, reaching out to shake Hunter awake like they'd agreed on. But Hunter wasn't there!

Sam turned only to see his guardian and partner vanish behind a few trees. He stood up, quickly slipping something warm on, shuddering in the cold morning air. He followed Hunter, very curious to why he was up at night. It wasn't because a need to empty his bladder, because their 'toilet' (if one could even call the place that) was in the other direction.

It was wrong, perhaps, since Hunter trusted Sam so much. Why shouldn't he return it? Maybe it was something private?

Sam soon caught sight of Hunter again, only to find him carrying something. Food? But the collectors wouldn't come to the edge of the forest until tomorrow noon, Sam remembered that. Curiosity growing, his speed increased, though making sure to be as quiet as possible.

Hunter stopped, and so did Sam, hiding behind a few branches. He moved them aside with a method that made sure they wouldn't break. What he saw there was a sight to remember, and he was stunned.

Drake Merwin.

As he could have forgotten those eyes anywhere.

"'S alright," Hunter said so quietly he almost just mouthed it, advancing at the shadowed form of the psychopath. What was he doing?! Drake was dangerous! However, Drake didn't make a hostile move towards Hunter. When Sam's eyes adjusted more to the dark given by the mountainside Drake hid under, he could see that he was lying down. Why?

"Brought food."

Sam frowned. Food? That was for the townies, not madmen. Maybe Hunter didn't know of Drake's reputation! But everyone knew, the sadist _was_ one of the most infamous people in the FAYZ.

"It's okay Sam, I know you're there."

Hunter's voice was low, but strangely calm.

Sam gulped, coming out of the shadows.

"It's okay to ask questions," Hunter said calmly, still feeding the half-sleeping Drake some meat. The psychopath didn't turn to Sam, just eating it quickly, almost clinging to Hunter. First now he could see clearly all the terrible cuts that decorated Drake's body from head to toe, very visible through his shirt and pants, which were both hang as rags on his body. In his hair there were hardened blood, and also around his mouth.

"What have happened to him?" Sam blurted out when he'd regained the ability to speak.

"Attacked. Kids. Hurt him."

"But he's... He's Drake Merwin! You know who that is, right?! The child slaughterer, the psychopath, the sadist?"

Hunter nodded. Drake glared at both from underneath the mountainside, looking exhausted. When Hunter turned away from Sam and gave Drake some of the food he'd brought with him, Drake bit into it, obviously in pain from doing so but still looking like he'd been starved for days. Speaking of which, Sam had been plagued with nightmares lately so he knew where had Hunter had been all night- '_Ah_.' "Don't chew fast, 'den it'll hurt."

"I won't stand for this. He's going to prison. I won't see him healed and then go on another murder rampage. I'm leaving."

With quick steps, he turned around, not able to handle his inner turmoil.

"Sam." There was something in Hunter's voice that made Sam freeze. "The kids... They ripped out his tongue."

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_**Gifted**_

It was something unsettling about seeing one's nemesis brought to his absolute weakest like this. One thing had been if it had been Drake's work, making Sam like _this_. But instead of the ultimate satisfaction that the Human Crew meant was supposed to appear when Drake met Sam Temple one last time before his public execution simply wasn't _there_. All he felt was a soaking emptiness and pity; pity because it was all so shabby. He was the one who was supposed to break Sammy-boy, not these amateurs. Sam deserved better than that - he was Drake's enemy, _Drake's_, after all.

"You're not... satisfied?" Lance asked, raising an eyebrow.

Drake couldn't stand him. He was far too girly and so obviously Zil's fuck-toy that it was hard to look at him without imagining Zil dressing him up in some sort of nasty BDSM fetish outfit complete with lace and everything. The teeth marks near Lance's choker indicated this, anyway. But the guy had a brain, which was more than one could say about most of the Human Crewers after they'd taken over Perdido Beach after Caine's fall.

Drake guessed he should be feeling nostalgic.

"I'm not sure. Where's Caine anyway? Thought you talked about the _other_ brother."

"Nobody cares about the broken king anymore, not after his mind finally snapped after the last 'Torture of Ladris' shows when someone _actually_ killed her. Such a scandal. I bet we could've kept it going for far longer hadn't one of those little sadistic rapists went too far with their, eh, _games_. Disgusting really. Now he's nothing more than a sobbing mess, but I like him."

"Soren's yours now?" Drake grunted. He hadn't seen the fallen king for a long time, but he'd heard the rumours. Public humiliation, fucked daily, all that. Terrible, but Drake didn't care much.

"He was a gift," Lance replied with a smile, playing with one of his obviously so fake curls, making him look even more like a young boy. "All mine, now. Not so bad once you get to him."

Slavery was common now. They'd moved back in time for real, without electricity _or_ human rights.

Drake came out as one of the winners of the little war, standing with one foot on each side, making him win no matter what side came out victoriously. The Human Crew had, obviously, and Drake had ended up as a 'war hero', rewarded handsomely for his 'efforts' (which was just switching sides when things looked bad). This included occasional gifts. After the last slave had ended up dead - her fault for being so damn scrawny, he hadn't meant to break her neck when pushing her down the stairs - the Human Crew leaders had decided he deserved a new one.

Sam Temple lay there on the ground, dirtied and soiled. Although he'd been covered in perfume, the stink of sex was still very evident. He'd drawn his knees up to his chest, and even those were full of blue and purple marks after several beatings.

"Who had him before me? Doesn't seem very talkative."

The guard answered that one, smirking. "'Course he ain't, none of 'em are anymore. Not after we've had our fun with him. We could all borrow him - only promise being that we didn' kill or seriously injure him physically, but also that we'd make him pay for what 'e did to the glorious Human Crew."

Great, another one of those products of Zil's extremism. Guy was like Hitler, bringing kids into a terrible system that made them all mindless killers - with a _cause_. Pathetic those who couldn't think for themselves. But Drake didn't care, he liked to see the world burn from the sideline.

"So you raped him?"

Not used to such a word, the guard flinched. "'E likes it rough. Ain't rape if ya enjoy it. He's only a slave, and a war criminal. 'E's dangerous. "

Sam curled up on the ground.

"He doesn't seem very dangerous."

"So you don't want him?" Lance asked, not caring much for Sam's history of violations.

Drake kicked Sam over on his stomach, curious. Sam looked up, first with a vulnerability that made Drake want to throw up - he'd dared himself to call himself Drake's worst enemy? - but then something else... There! There it was! The glorious little glimmer that showed that there was still some fight left in Sam, the famous sort that had made Drake lose his arm. He wanted to heat it up to a glorious fire and then break it all apart again, little by little until there was no one who could put the shattered pieces back again.

A grin stretched across Drake's mouth. Oh, he'd make the four-bar repay him in every way possible.

"Nah. I'll take him."

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**_Eyes  
><em>**

Sam could not recall the last time he had screamed like this. Maybe when Drake had whipped him.

No, no this was much worse.

Heat burned all around him, and there were sand in his countless wounds, wounds that grew faster than lightening so that the desert sand stayed inside of him. It smelt like rot, and he could not threw up because all that he'd eaten before was already out of his system, and hunger or thirst no longer bothered him. The heat did, and the pain. Oh god, the pain.

Drake sneered, continuing to drag him towards the town. His tentacle was wrapped around Sam's foot, threatening to yank it clean off. "Ya should be happy, Temple. This way ya won't die no matter how many times I kill you. But, come to think of it, that's more of a punishment, ain't it?" The piercing laugh that followed was almost worse than the lot of it. Drake's words got under his skin - along with the sand - and made him shudder. In 104 degrees Fahrenheit. Unbearable, all of it.

"Please," Sam rasped, "Kill m-me, Drake. I can't t-t-take it, please..."

"Stop whinin'!" Sam's arm was suddenly dislocated. It would soon heal, but it didn't lessen the pain of having it yanked backwards like that until a nasty sound erupted "You think I'll really do somethin' like that, Sammy? I fuckin' suffered when you burnt my arm off. But you didn't stop wanting to kill me, did you? Each time you hurt me, Sammy, I'll pay you back by a hundred."

"P-Please...!"

Drake sat down in the desert, throwing a whimpering Sam with him. "You should be grateful. It's an honor, serving the Gaiaphage. Why can't you see? You blind, Temple?" His tone darkened, "Want me to make you blind?"

"W-What-?"

And then Drake searched around in his pocket, sighing as if he was a doctor going through an unnceccesairy operation. He slipped a white glove on, studied it for a moment, then moved it towards Sam. It wasn't until it was _very_ close that Sam started thrashing around. Drake calmly took hold of him again, moving Sam into his lap. "Shhh, love. It'll be over in a sec."

Then he reached out and he plucked Sam's eyes out, one by one.

He had never experienced pain like that.

Never.

It drove him to madness.

This was beyond pain, and the scream that ripped itself from his throat wasn't human, proving it. Drake was _ripping_ one of his senses from him.

"...They're blue."

In the midst of all the spit, snot, tears, blood, sweat, Sam gasped, reaching after his precious _eyes_. His arms swayed while around him, but Drake easily contained him, still turning the bloodied balls of white and blue and black around in his arm, smiling sickly.

"_Beautifully_ blue, and so small... Too bad you can't see them, eh?"

Ill, he was ill.

Sam choked like he would threw up, but nothing came.

"There, there."

After ripping out his eyes, the bastard still had the guts to pat his head like Sam was a child. A blind, bloodied child. Dear god, all was pain. And Drake continued hugging him like a father wound, protecting him, as if he wasn't the one that had brought this upon Sam in the first place. He was the one who had forced Sam into the Gaiaphage's cave, making him this zombie just so he would watch all the horror Drake would lend upon the poor, unsuspecting kids at Perdido.

"It'll be over soon. I'll just need to squeeze these, then the black holes in the midst of your head is gonna grow back! Too bad this doesn't work on limbs though... That would be fun though, laying your head in Astrid's bed at night... I asked the Gaiaphage if he could do this though, and I'm not disappointed, not the slightest. Still you feel pain when I feel nothing. Glorious, a fitting punishment, too."

Sam wasn't listening, only wailing after his precious eyes. Insanity was firmly grasping his mind. "T-They're m-mine!"

"Oh? You want them back?" Drake smirked, holding them high up like a teenager teasing a child about candy.

"Y-Yes!"

"Oh but I can't give you _both_, Sammy, 'cos I want one too. How about you receive one?"

"O-One?" Sam looked insanely hopeful. He was dreadfully cute, and all the blood and those two black holes for eyes didn't lessen the illusion. "T-That's okay! You can k-keep one!" His voice was a mere whisper. "Please! I just wanna s-see again!"

"Oh you will see, Sammy-boy." Drake patted his head, kissing his forehead. Drake's mouth became smeared with blood because of it, but he didn't mind. He then looked a the bloodied glove - white and red made such a nice contrast, really - and then stuck it into his one eyesocket, digging out a grey eye. He held it up, blew a little on it. Sam looked confused, not knowing what was going on.

Then he did something that truly proved that he was insane.

He swapped their eyes.

One grey and one blue for both of them - it was all very beautiful, although bloody and disturbing.

Sam shuddered, but when his body started working with the healing, gladly taking in the organs again... He could see. After a while, he could control his pupils, making them dart around. "Now you're so pretty," Drake said, caressing Sam. He didn't quite know how it worked. "My wonderful little angel... Or demon, now that you've got my eye. But does that make me a demonic angel as well?"

Sam wasn't listening.

"I can see the world... I can see it through your eyes..."

"Quite literally, love," Drake said, kissing him again.

.

.

_**Zoates**_

"I know a person who can help us get rid of the monster," Diana crooned softly into Caine's ear, her expression wearing a scowl but she still managed to sound really smug.

Caine followed her line of thinking , and shook his head. "No. We can't bring _him_ into this, you know that." He stared at Sam for a moment. "He's probably dead anyway."

Diana ignored this, placing hand on her boyfriend's shoulder. "Sam?"

The brown-haired teen had watched the seen unfold quite intensely, but he still jumped three feet up in the air when he was called. Sam shot a surprised look at her, "Y-Yes?" He still was quite like an untamed animal; fidgeting and trembling when near other people.

"I need you to tell me what happened to Drake Merwin," she said.

Sam gave her a horrified look, but it quickly changed to confusion. "Why do you want to know that?"

Diana running a hand trough her short hair. "Just tell me."

"I don't want to!" Sam hissed suddenly, shocking both Diana and Caine with his sudden and deviant new attitude. Like a cat arching his back when threatened.

"Sam," Caine said his brother's name as a warning, "Don't raise your voice like that. We need the information. Why can't we have it? Do you not trust us? Why? But if you don't trust us, then we can't trust you either." He looked at Sam sternly like he was scolding a little kid, while he rose from his seat. The message was clear: 'Tell us or we'll leave.'

Sam grabbed his brother's arm, eyes wide with panic. "Please! Don't leave!" His voice rang with desperation. "J-just... I'll tell everything, just don't leave..." His arms started shaking, and Caine didn't seem to mind as Sam pulled him into an embrace. He buried his head in his brothers chest, still shaking with fear.

"Promise?" Caine asked, smiling in mock amusement. His smile widened as he noticed Diana frowning at him and he mouthed 'Easy!' to her while patting Sam's head.

"Y-yeah..." Sam took a deep breath, looking up at Caine with trusting eyes. "I'll tell you where he is... But I can't promise anything... Saw him burning, y'see, tortured after the Human Crew found out where he was... After they had their fun, t-they left him in chains in a cave under a pile of rocks. It left him really, _really_ insane..."

.

.

_**The Banquet**_ (originally part 7 or something of _Nocturne_)

"Is he dead?"

Snow whipped in their faces, and it was a wonder the wind - screaming like a dead person - didn't drown out their voices.

"I'm not sure," the oldest teen replied with a tad of pity, though nothing major that could resemble concern. Not insecure when it came to his own choice in the ultra challenging matter, Sam slowly pressed the weak and frozen body against his chest in a rather pitiful attempt to sacrifice some of his low warmth. "Not sure at all."

Diana, who had regained some stress and insisted on not appearing as a damsel in the distress twenty-four seven and walking, observed him closely. On all occurrences, she made her opinions on various matters and kept them to herself. Whatever she thought now, was uncertain. She was such an unreadable figure, and Sam wondered if she and his brother could make a relationship work when he couldn't quite understand her.

Communication was the most important thing when it came to such, or so he'd read anyway.

Not that Sam had given any proper reasoning on why exactly he decided to bring Drake Merwin with them on their journey and not let him freeze to death.

"Hey !" Caine waved a few meters in front of them, making sure to keep his tone quiet to not attract unwanted attention. "I found a place where we can spend the night," he informed Sam once standing closer. Casting a hateful look at Drake, he swiftly nodded, and headed towards the destination.

It was a petite, unused barn, although no animals rested there at the time being. There were no doors to shelter from the harsh weather, and several holes and molded areas decorated the red-painted wood. However it was the best the three could find at the moment, and the holes would make them able to light a fire without smoke filling the room. Diana helped Caine remove the backpack from his stiff back, taking off her own slightly lighter one. Thereafter she went to collect some dry hay from the corners of the barn to use as fuel.

No words were exchanged, even as Sam laid Drake down on the ground, near a wall, making sure to use ripped-off material from his own clothes to tie the unconscious boy up with. Sam threw a dirty blanket at the unconscious curled up figure.

He broke off some old but non-moldy wooden sticks from the wall, and used it to create a small fireplace that stood up. The ground underneath them was mostly earth, the hay lying in big amounts in the corners. After reviving some from Diana, Sam made a fire two meters from Drake, making sure he couldn't reach it with any of his body parts. Luckily, he had no whip-formed tentacle.

"I still don't get why you insist on bringing our assassin here, Sam." Caine's voice was cold, and he was rubbing his pink hands against each other for warmth. "He's going to try kill you as soon as he gets his hands on you. _She _didn't lie about his existence, at least, so we have no option but to trust it after coming so far."

Pushing a wooden stick into the fireplace, Sam let the reply live on his tongue as he helped Diana prepare a bowl of gruel. "You could try get some warmth into your fingers by blowing on them, Caine. And we need to get out of the sweaty and snowy wet clothes unless we want to catch a cold. I'm still surprised you two survived your escape attempt. What, you thought wandering out in the snow would get you out of this world?"

Fully aware of the fact that he'd just moved into a hypersensitive conversation topic, Sam opened his outer jacket and laid it in front of the fire. Under there was another layer of a much thinner wool material, which he quite so carelessly stripped out of. Then the undershirt came off. Since Caine was still struggling with ice-cold fingers hence the struggling with the zipper of his jacket, both him and Diana happened to look at Sam in the correct moment.

Too visible scars decorated his whole back, mostly thin, red crusts. They varied in size and shape, some short and deep as if nails - no, claws - had been drawn over an area, others long but not nearly as deep. A few were both deep and long; those must have hurt to most.

Who had did these foul things was a rather easy guess. Caine cast a look at Drake.

However, Sam had also developed quite a few muscles. Although ribs wasn't seen, he was still thinner than an average youth after all the hard work in the FAYZ. It showed that he was on the current time far from defenseless when it came to fight battles.

Pretending to not have spotted their surprised expressions, Sam used a blanket and toweled his auburn hair dry again to prevent pearls of water to run down and wet his new shirt. When all dried up, he dressed up as well. "Make Diana help you with that zipper, idiot."

"If he still did those things to you... How can you still allow him near you?" Caine questioned, serious, with Diana quite ruining the serious image, struggling with getting him out of the big grey coat.

"'Cos he didn't do it to me." Sam crawled over to Drake again, wariness on his features, knowing just how dangerous his nemesis could be if he desired to.

"But-"

"The future him did," Sam interrupted, and held up Drake's human arm, which would in another time line had been a whip-formed tentacle. "This Drake Merwin is either fourteen or thirteen years old. It was before I burnt off his arm and as She quoted; "Before he lost his last remains of humanity". This means, as stated previously, that the Merwin here is still a boy. A very mentally ill and sadistic child child, but still just a child."

Quiet, Sam started searching for weapons in-between Drake's clothes. He found a few silvery knifes, immediately throwing them to the other side, thereafter stripping Drake off the outer clothes that weren't dry because of the snow. He then wrapped the unconscious sand-blonde better into the warm blanket. "Very much still a _child_."

Not agreeing but instead respecting his strong opinion, Caine nodded at his twin-brother and changed himself, afterwards wrapping both Diana and himself into another blanket to make use of human warmth, not in the mood for exploiting their position in a romantic way. They'd nearly died that very day. Near-death experiences didn't make hormones go wild, to say at least.

"The gravel is ready. Pour in," Diana offered, getting some bowls for herself and the two boys, offering it to them without changing her expression. Sam gave them all some brown wooden spoons, smiling tiredly at Diana in thanks.

None of them complained. The consistence of the gravel was just a bit thicker than water, looking like some thin, white version of porridge. Sam sat down near Caine, and pretended not to notice the flinch.

The youngest twin-brother sighed, "You're not gonna listen to me when I say that you should have left Merwin there to die, are you?"

"No."

"Thought that much."

"Why do you want me to do such a thing anyway? Weren't you three comrades or something?"

"No," Diana replied, "We weren't."

"Our relationship with Merwin was a give-gain one. I needed his muscles and infamous reputation and he needed my natural ability to lead." Caine took another spoonful of gravel. The taste wasn't what you could call luxurious, though he could have eaten anything and thought it was luxurious after those long hours of walking. "We hated him, he hated us. That's all there is to the infamous Silver trio, as we were called back then."

'Back then'. It seemed ages ago, Perdido Beach, Coates, everything... Sam met his eyes, thinking something along the same lines. If it was the cold or tire Sam didn't know, but he could no longer remember the smell of sea salt, the feeling sand underneath your feet or the sight of waves.

Diana broke their moment.

"And looks like the hated one has awoken."

With the odd observation, their heads turned against the no longer sleeping Merwin. His silver eyes flickered from Caine, to Diana, to Sam in a repeating cycle, more narrowed for each second that passed.

"Sleeping Beauty has kissed his invisible prince," Caine commented dryly. "Or perhaps he's the witch..."

"Merwin," Sam greeted, ignoring the offensive greeting from Caine. Instead his gaze went back to his food and he continued eating like nothing had happened. Diana copied his movements, Caine following soon after. Food was more interesting than Drake, obviously. At least the food didn't glare daggers at them.

Drake had yet to move though; it seemed as he was frozen, yet his face told you he had no desire of being so. "F-F-Fuck 'ou," was the intelligent reply.

Sam waited until he was finished eating, then politely asked Diana if he could have another bowl. With it in his hands, he sat down beside Drake, knowing the psychopath's arms were locked. He laid a hand on Drake's foot. "You feel anything?"

"'M s-supposed' kill ya."

"Well you aren't gonna do any of that in this occasion, idiot. Now, I asked you a question. Can you feel anything?" Sam moved higher, clenching his slender fingers around the flesh painfully. Though he revived no response, verbal nor physical, making him sigh. He turned to his watchers, "He can't feel the lower part of his body. He's completely harmless."

With the half-growl half-snort noise the invalid made, Sam sighed again, and went down on his knees in front of him. Without any concern for the danger the beast in front of him was, he curled his fingers around Drake's shoulder, nails digging into the pale skin. It revived a small wince.

"At least you're not a vegetable."

"Joy," Diana muttered dryly.

Then Drake's stomach decided to give quite an unhappy sound, breaking the slightly tense moment. He flustered bright red because of the pitiful sign on humanity, resulting in a few sniggers from Caine and Diana. The corner of Sam's mouth trembled, but he didn't smile.

"Hungry? I bet they sent you without food, or warm enough clothes." Taking up the small bowl of gravel, Sam took a spoonful and moved it in circles around the younger boy's face. "Nothin' to be ashamed about, Merwin."

"I'm not ashamed!" Drake disagreed rather harshly, resulting in his voice's pitch going higher until it broke and he fell into a coughing fit. His throat was too sore and dehydrated. When Sam was still staring at him with the same calm expression, Drake bit in the sour apple, as the saying goes, and ate the spoonful.

"I remember being informed by Niûr that gravel was the food they used most of in the old days - it is vote healthy, rich on liquid and it satisfies hunger. 'Sides, it's made out of some sort of bread-like stuff. It's cheap." He didn't know who he was talking to, but shoved another spoonful of gravel into Drake's mouth before any mocking comments managed to get out. Sam didn't feel bothered with the task - after all, he was not feeding a foe since this Drake hadn't become one yet.

Continuing his eating and remaining silent, Drake seemed a lot more focused on the food than anything else. He blocked out his mission for once, aware of that he was currently captured and couldn't do jack's shit anyway.

Caine watched the scene before here with sheer amusement; he'd never believed that there would be a moment of peace between the two before him. Mumbling something for himself, he noticed with a raised eyebrow that Diana was busy tucking herself into a blanket, obviously quite sleepy.

When Drake had eaten all off it (still without a single word) Sam sat the bowl down, helping the sand-blond lay down, wrapping the brown wool blanket around him with quick motions.

He rose from his position, "Gotta go. I'll be gone a minute. Nature calls."

Caine looked after him as he walked out the exit of the bar. "I wonder how it's like getting cared for by your worst enemy," he pondered out loud, smirking like a smug snake.

Grounding his two rows of ivory shark-teeth together, Drake scowled sharply in his direction. There was nothing he could do. "Shut the fuck up." He thought for a few seconds before adding, "You probably know all about it Soren, since you're on Team Sam right now. Planning to murder him when he's sleeping, eh?"

"No." Caine paused, looking up. "Not at all. And how much did your masters tell you about The FAYZ, Merwin?"

"None of your business, Soren. And they're not my masters!" It ended in a hoarse shout, then he started coughing again. "Bet cha you only do this to get closer to the wretched Ladris witch, right? To get into her fucking pants... You'll kill your brother the moment he falls asleep, yeah?"

"What the Hell did you just accuse me for?" Caine stood up, walking towards Drake, rage aflame in his hazel eyes. "I'm gonna slaughter you just because of that lie-"

"Jesus Christ, I can't even be taking a piss before you two try murder each other!" Sam reached an arm before Caine, the other one forcing his twin down again. "No slaughtering, 'kay?"

Caine snorted.

Narrowing his midnight-coloured eyes, the tall teen crossed his arms and looked with malice down at Drake. "And you. Stop mocking Caine with lies. Why I let you alive, I am not sure of, but if you continue acting like an asshole then we'll leave you outside." With that he went over to his place and laid down, face away from the small fire. "Now sleep. We need energy 'cos we never know when we might need it. Same goes for you Merwin."

"Finally someone who have the balls to tell them," Diana mumbled and went closer to Caine for more body warmth. She felt him press his back against her's, and the tiniest of smiles stretched on her lips.

Oddly enough, Drake didn't retort with anything to his savior. Perhaps some sort of odd respect had developed itself in his heart. Or perhaps Drake was merely tired.


End file.
